The Laughing Shadow
by Merc the Jerk
Summary: Jack Apple wasn't the smartest cookie in the oven. Despite this, she ended up in Cloudsdale Academy-a school for the rich, intelligent, and the intelligently rich. How or why she got accepted isn't important to her. What IS important is that as the days go by, a dark cloud of conflict and intrigue seems to be brewing in the school.
1. The road to success

The cold nighttime wind blew over the railway as AJ stared somberly at the train, frowning deeply as its single, lonely whistle shot across the nearly empty station. She brushed her long blonde hair from her eyes, and stole a glance at the only other person standing nearby. He was a strongly built man; tall and tough, like a plaid wearing bull. In his calloused hands were several travel bags, all filled to the brim with AJ's belongings. He regarded the train casually with half open eyes.

"I don't wanna do this," the girl stubbornly grunted, crossing her arms under her breasts.

"But yer gonna." he drawled back. "Yer goin', an' that's that."

"Mac," she started to quickly reason, adjusting the cowboy hat she wore. "Who's gonna help 'round the farm?"

He seemed to slowly ponder this, chewing absentmindedly on a toothpick in his mouth. "God'll provide." The farmer finally shrugged.

Macintosh was only a few years her senior, but there were times when he just sounded so... old.

"Ya say that, but I'd prefer a more practical answer," AJ countered.

"It's as practical as it needs ta be, sis." He turned his lazy green eyes towards the girl. "I'm givin' ya the chance ta be somethin' I never could—college educated. An' at one of the best Academies money can offer, too."

"But how we gonna pay fer it? We're barely scrappin' by as it is, Mac. Ain't no way we can afford fer me ta go back ta school."

"We can, an' we will. Ain't no other way outta this one." He gave a quick, joking kick to AJ's backside, leaving a dusty boot imprint on her faded jeans. "Now get up in there. I'mma sure the conductor's gettin' pissed at ya stallin'."

She huffed, brushing off her seat. "Fine. Didn't realize ya wanted me out this bad."

"Eyup," he quietly joked, tossing her luggage inside the cart. "Jus' make sure ta write an' come back on vacation, alright?"

"Of course, Mac." As he loaded the last of her things onto the train, she wrapped him in a tight hug. "Tell Bloom I'm sorry she didn't get ta come see me off."

"She'll understand," he said. "I hope," he added under his breath.

AJ walked past him and entered the train, scooping up what she could of her luggage. With a small, surprisingly timid wave of her hand, she bid goodbye as the last whistle rang out into the countryside.

"Love ya, bro," she called out, refusing to cry.

"Love ya too, sis," he answered back, wiping his eyes onto his flannel shirt. "A-aint too long 'till yer first break. I'll see ya then, o-ok?"

"It's a promise."

000

AJ leaned back in her seat, sighing as the train finally departed the station. The cart was nearly empty, only holding her and one other girl in the back of the cart. The other one seemed intently focused on a video game of some sort—her curly pink hair bobbed as she darted back and forth to what was on the screen. The southerner never found the appeal in most games, save for ones that told a good story. Those ones at least she could enjoy even if she wasn't actually good.

She looked out the window at the moonlit sky. Fields and ponds blanketed the midwest sight as far as the eye could see. In the far distance, there was a pocket of woods—AJ had got lost there once when she was younger. Macintosh took her snipe hunting, and, well... she was still pretty sore about that one.

This land spoke to her in so many ways. It hurt leaving, that was for sure. And for what? So Macintosh could pat himself on the back?

Her brow furrowed at the thought, and she scowled. Seconds later, she shook her head. Nah, Mac was only doing this to make their folks proud and give her the chance he never did, all thanks to the accident that took their mama and pa from them.

The young woman reached into one of her bags and pulled out the pamphlet for the school she was traveling to. As she read what was on the paper, her lips moved in time with her mind, a vice she had ever since she was little.

_"Cloudsdale University. Over two hundred years service providing magic training for soul folk. Over one hundred years providing education to the world. Come and view our pristine academy, fantastic teachers, and five star gourmet meals..."_

She stopped reading, tossing the pamphlet to the side. "Damn it, Mac. I didn't need anythin' this fancy. Yer jus' tossin' money inta the wind," AJ complained to herself.

"Who's Mac?" a voice questioned from right behind her. She whipped around, nearly gasping at the pink haired girl leaning on her headrest. She was a cute thing with a charming, innocent smile and light blue eyes. She extended her hand over the seat. "Hi! My name's Diane! But most people call me Pinkie, 'cause I like pink so much!" She giggled. "How about you? What's your name?"

"Uh..." AJ quickly let her southern charm kick in until her brain rebooted from the surprise. "I'm Jack Apple. Most folks jus' call me AJ, though. Pleasure ta meet ya." She grabbed Pinkie's hand and gave it a firm shake, noting a mark in the shape of three balloons on the back of the girl's hand.

_Earth folk too, huh?_ Applejack thought, stealing a quick peek at the back of her own calloused hand and noting the three apples dotting it.

"Apple family?!" The other gasped, as if the revelation was integral to the world functioning. "Your brothers with Macintosh, right?"

"Eyup. Ho-"

"I knew it!" Pinkie giggled, balling up a fist and putting it down into her palm. "I'm part of the Pie clan—we're maybe an hour or so west of you guys. Mac's visited before to butcher a few pigs. Small world!"

"Huh. I knew he took the pigs and beef ta get slaughtered somewhere close. Guess I never knew the butchers had a gal my age." Applejack glanced towards the pamplet she had so casually threw to the side moments ago. "If yer on this train, then I reckon yer goin' ta the same spot as me."

"Next stop, Cloudsdale!" The other one boasted, quickly standing on her seat and sticking a foot on top of AJ's headrest. She pointed forward with the exuberance of a pirate finding gold.

"I'm takin' ya've been there 'bouts before?" AJ drawled, turning to and fro in an attempt to comfortably sit without running her head into the other's pink converse shoes.

"Well, duh! I'm a Sophomore now! I've been, like, around the block." She innocently beamed a toothy grin, sticking out her petite chest proudly and throwing her head back with mirth.

"Well then, how's 'bout ya fill me in on the experience. I ain't never been ta someplace so fancy 'fore. How should I act?"

Pinkie put a finger to her chin for a moment, squinting her eyes shut. She quickly opened them. "Be yourself, silly! It's what I do!"

The farmer paused, smiling slightly. "Well, I like that advice. Ain't never been one ta play roles, I'd much rather be a heart on my sleeve kinda gal, I suppose."

Pinkie nodded so quickly that her poofy pink hair wiggled and jiggled. "Uh-huh! And don't worry—I can introduce you to everything when we get there! I'm, like, the best tour guide ever! And we can throw you a party and invite all of my friends! It'll be great!"

"N-now jus' hold yer horses, I ain't sure if I wanna do all that tonight. Can it wait 'till morning?"

"Of course, silly-billy! There's no classes until Wednesday!"

"Good deal." AJ let out a long, drawn out yawn, and rubbed her green eyes. "God, how late is it?"

"Late? It's early! It's only one'o'clock!" Pinkie enthusiastically stated. "We're not getting there until four."

"One?! Shootfire, I'm usually in bed by the time eleven rolls 'bout. No wonder I'mma yawnin' so much."

"Oh! You're wanting to sleep! I can understand that, I'm pretty tired myself! We had to wean some calves from the bottle today! Let's see, how many did we stop givin' milk? There was Armand, Alphonse, Berry, Brick, Brunt, Bill, Boston, Boston Cream Pie, Coconut, Custard, Davy, Dewey, Frank..."

Jack's eyes grew heavy as the girl continued to ramble on and on. She felt her eyes involuntary start to close...

000

"...Yam, Yo-yo, Yggdrasil, Zebra..."

AJ awoke with a yawn as the train jerked to a halt. She tiredly glanced over to Pinkie, and wasn't sure if she felt relief when she noted the girl was leaned back in the seat behind her, talking in her slumber. On noting the train stopped, Jack rose and gave Diane a quick shake.

"Up an at 'em. We're here," AJ quickly said.

Pinkie yawned, stretching out as much as she could in the chair. "Oh wow!" she chirped. "That train ride flew by!"

"Sleepin' can have that effect, yeah," the farmer casually said, smiling gently. Even though Pinkie was her age, AJ couldn't help but hold a maternal instinct for the childish woman. Instinctively, she tussled the pink girl's hair. "Let's get ta mosyin'. I'm sure the conductor wants ta get a move on."

"Okie dokie loki!" Pinkie chirped.

The two, both loaded down with luggage, stepped foot onto the station. AJ took a deep breath, and was surprised how, well, clean the air still felt. It reminded her of home. As she looked around the nearly empty station, Pinkie tugged at AJ's collar.

She pointed straight ahead. "There's our ride!"

Standing at attention was a thin and frail elderly man in a crisp, clean gray overcoat. In his gloved hands was a small sign. _Diane Pie and Jack Appl_e, it said.

"Hans!" the girl giggled, dropping her stuff and running over to give the man a bone crushing hug. He gasped at the impact, but soon his dark and kindly face lit up.

"Ms. Pie. Fantastic to see you as well." He quietly laughed, putting a gentle hand on top of her head. The man soon coughed into his hand, and looked over to the tall and tanned woman awkwardly holding her bags. "Ms. Apple, if I am so bold to guess?"

"Eyup." She nodded. "Though AJ or Jack'll do me jus' fine."

He gently moved past Pinkie, and gave a small bow. "My name is Hans. I am to be your driver. Please, allow me to take your luggage and-"

"Ain't no need. I got it myself," Jack replied, moving her assortment of bags to one hand in order to grab Pinkie's load. She shrugged easily. "This ain't nothing compared ta some of the junk I've had ta haul over at the Acres." The farmer easily brushed past the two, heading for the exit. Hans and Diane met each others glances and shrugged.

000

AJ bumped the door handles with her foot, nudging the exit gently and stepping through the door. She took a few steps and adjusted her baggage.

It was a quaint, picturesque town. In the fresh misty morning air, Jack took a deep breath of life. A paperboy rode past her, throwing his ware onto the steps of the various shops lining the cobblestone street on her right. To her left was green fields, and a small dirt path leading to a pond filled with casually swimming ducks and surrounded by trees in the distance. A pale woman wearing a yellow sweater brushed pink hair away from her gentle face, and threw bread crumbs towards the animals. She seemed to giggle when one took notice of her treat.

A neighing from a few feet away drew AJ's attention back to business. Standing proudly on the streets was a carriage with two well bred brown horses, looking smart in matching black collars. Jack felt empathy for the two animals, and made her way towards them, giving each gave a small stroke of affection on their blonde manes in turn. They welcomed her with gentle, chocolate eyes.

"I see you met Abigail and Allison." Hans called out, walking alongside Pinkie and coming to the carriage. He fondly gave each a tap on the side, and climbed up to the drivers seat, giving a friendly glance towards Jack. "They normally don't take all that kindly to strangers, Ms. Apple. They must sense a kindred spirit in you."

"Always liked horses," she agreed, opening the carriage's door and loading her and Pinkie's bags inside. "Have a few back at the farm myself."

"Wow! That's cool!" Diane gushed. She noticed AJ loading her stuff inside the carriage. "Wait!" she called out. The farmer paused, turning to look at the pink haired girl.

"I don't take my stuff to Cloudsdale. I stay with the bakers in town."

"Do what now?" AJ questioned. Pinkie gestured to one of the buildings, where AJ saw a woman wiping a glass counter stocked with baked goods.

"Yeah! I live with Mr. and Mrs. Cake during school! I help them plan parties! And cater! I love catering!"

Jack gave a sudden nod. "Ah. That explains the balloons, I reckon."

"Balloons?" The pink haired girl questioned. AJ pointed to her own hand, where three apples stood proudly on her tanned skin.

"Eyup. Yer mark."

"Oh." she said, then her eyes widened in realization. "Oh!" she exclaimed, raising her hand to eye level. "Yeah! I'm, like, super happy when I throw parties for people! It's fun!"

"Ya seem like the type ta make 'em fun, Pinkie." AJ smirked, casually tilting her hat back with a finger. "Need a hand taking yer bags in?"

"Silly! I got 'em!" The girl giggled. She brushed past Jack, picking through the pile of stuff for her own bags, then skipped towards the bakery, humming loudly.

"She always that, uh, hyper?" the farmer asked the old man sitting on the drivers bench.

"No, Ms. Apple. Sometimes she's even more energetic," Hans answered, grabbing the horse's reins in his gloved hands. "Better get inside the carriage. We shall be leaving when Ms. Pie returns."

"Actually, it alright if I sit up front with ya? It's a pretty nice mornin' out, after all." AJ had already hoisted herself up to the front, and moved slightly to get comfortable on the wooden bench.

"Sure. Just be careful and hold tight."

Pinkie came bounding back outside after a minute or two, and ducked into the carriage. With a whistle and a slight crack of the reigns, they were off.

AJ tried to absorb every aspect of the town as the drove. The friendly faces and polite waves of the people they passed, the soothing sound of the river, and the scents of home cooked meals.

It was the kind of place she wouldn't mind calling home, if the farm ever went belly up.

"What's the name of this town, Mister?" she asked.

"Your in Saint Joseph, Ms. Apple. Though the residents around here call it Ponyville."

The blonde gave a disbelieving look over to the man. "Do what now?"

"This town has a history of relying on ponies." He gave the briefest of glances towards Jack, before returning to minding the horses. "Though I have my suspicions you would not be interested in the story."

Truth was, Jack never did have much of a keen interest in history. However, her drive to be polite overruled her normal apathy for the subject.

"Honestly, I don't. But go ahead, I reckon we've got ourselves a bit of a ride anyway."

"Well, you remember anything taught to you on history about... two hundred years ago?"

"That was 'bout twenty years 'fore the three tribes were able ta join together under an alliance, right?"

"Correct. Well, during that time, it was quite common for the different race of men, or 'folk' as girls such as yourself have gotten used to calling them, to fight one another. And as any General knows, troops are only as good as the orders issued to them. Sky folk could fly messages to their troops in moments, and trained soul folk can almost instantly transport messages to letter stations. That left earth folk like ourselves behind on vital, lifesaving information. This town was the start of what was known as the Pony Express."

"Pony Express?" AJ repeated. "What in tarnation ya mean?"

He gazed ahead as they traveled past the outskirts of the quaint town, and began a gentle pace on a long curving road that cut through fields of green. "It is what historians called the system earth folk used to transport messages. We would have some of our best men ride some of our finest horses at a full on gallop to way stations about ten or fifteen miles apart. There, they cycled over to fresh horses and repeated the task. It helped us close the message gap immensely." Hans gave a quick glance ahead and noted a crossroads. He took a left, and continued to speak. "It was a fascinating area of study, when I was a younger man."

"If ya say so," the farmer dubiously answered. She looked east and noted the sun was slowly breaking the horizon. AJ stopped what she was doing, and turned to gaze at it, nearly stuck dumb at its beauty as it crossed over the treeline. A small part of her already felt the hungry, aching pain of homesickness thanks to a view like this—it reminded the woman of her place among her lands so much it hurt.

"Seems to be shaping up into a nice day, wouldn't you agree, Ms. Apple?"

"The kind that makes ya hopeful." Jack nodded.

"Hopeful?" he echoed, waiting for her to continue.

"Eyup. Hopeful that we'll get more mornin's jus' like this."

000

They traveled along the quaint countryside for about half an hour, AJ nearly nodding off in her seat as the comfortable temperature and breeze got the best of her. Hans gave a quick shake of her shoulders, and pointed straight ahead. AJ followed his finger, and was greeted with quite the sight.

On a hill in the distance was a massive and sprawling Victorian mansion, lined with strong oak trees and what seemed to be a gigantic marble fountain. As the carriage got closer, Jack could spot several young men and women milling about the grounds, seeming like they had all the time in the world to just, well, _sit._

It threw the woman off how casual it all seemed. She was so used to the fancy types that went to school being in a rush constantly. Granted, it might have been because classes wouldn't start for a few more days, but still...

"Oh wow! We're here!" Pinkie Pie announced from the carriage, poking her head out of one of the windows and grinning wildly at the scene before her. Before Hans even had a chance to stop the horses, she was out and running towards the entrance, giggling madly.

AJ gave a small laugh at the girl's theatrics, and noted Hans doing much of the same.

"Her laughter is infectious, is it not?"

Jack nodded, sill carrying a lopsided grin. "Eyup." She hopped off of the vehicle and quickly reached into the carriage, digging out her bags.

"Ms. Jack?" Hans called.

"Hmm?" AJ replied, moving to the driver's side.

He gazed down from the seat with kind eyes. "I would simply like to said that if you ever have any questions about the academy, don't hesitate to contact me. I know that coming to a new location so suddenly can disorient anyone."

"Thanks. I appreciate it," Jack said, giving a small wink in return. The older man looked once more at the risen sun.

"I suppose I should be going back to Ponyville. You and Ms. Pie are far from the only ones needing picked up today." He gave a quick shake of his reins. "[i]Fair thoughts and happy hours attend to you.[/i]"

With that, he was off, leaving AJ standing and scratching her blonde hair.

"What a weird way ta say 'bye.'"

Jack craned her neck up, overwhelmed by the size of the place. She had saw it from the road, but it was felt so much bigger now that she was on its hallowed ground. AJ lightly stepped past the people enjoying the morning and entered the large entryway.

The lobby was, to put it mildly, fancy. She shifted awkwardly in her boots at the sights.

Large bay windows let the morning rays in, blanketing everything in a tranquil ambiance. Dotted throughout the lobby were posh and comfortable leather chairs; students seemed to have already found great ones for napping. In the far corner was a piano, where a dark skinned woman with violet, shoulder-length hair was playing classical music.

AJ stuck out her tongue in distaste. If the girl was ragging out some good old fashioned blues or ragtime, Jack could have gotten behind that. Classical though? Too stuffy, reminded her of the upper crust.

The woman paused from her piano playing as a boy of about fourteen came up to her and started talking. She listened at him, wrapping a strand of her rose-streaked hair, before quickly replying to him. The kid gave a smart salute, and took off at a brisk pace towards the back of the lobby, where a grand stairway lead to a second floor, and from that landing, another set seemed to lead to a third floor. Jack couldn't see it, but she guessed the third led to a forth, maybe even a fifth floor.

AJ scratched at her head again. They knew how to make the place big.

"Can I help you with something?" a voice called to her right.

AJ quickly turned, letting out a small gasp of surprise. By her side was a modestly large receptionist's desk with a bored looking man attending. He was about her age, and as thin as a twig. AJ had a feeling that if she shook his hand, she'd break him. The wiry man pushed up his glasses and lazily looked over the woman, his eyes scanning over her boots, her jeans, up her taunt, muddy gray shirt, and finally resting on her plaid half jacket. Or, rather, her large bust.

"Up here, sugar," AJ easily instructed, giving a quick point to her face. She was used to dealing with gazers at the bar she frequented back home, so Jack hardly gave much thought to the orders.

"Uh, whoa. Sorry," he said, blushing and immediately glancing up to meet her freckled face.

"An' ta answer yer question; yeah. I could use a hand with somethin'." She gave a small lift of the bags she was carrying. "I need ta know where ta put these."

He nodded, reaching into a drawer on the desk and pulling out a Rolodex. "Sure. What's your name?"

"Jack Apple."

He quickly thumbed through the 'A's.' "Room 1408." He gestured to the opposite side of the room, where a double door stood. "Go in there. At the end of the hallway will be a stairwell. It's on the third floor."

"Thanks," AJ said, giving a nod and starting to walk away.

The man looked down at the Rolodex card once more. "Wait!" he called out.

She craned her neck over her shoulder to gaze at him again.

"There's a note here that the student counsel wants to meet with you at three."

"Student counsel? What in the sam hill?" she questioned.

"Dunno. Just what it's saying on the card."

"Well. Thanks fer the note then."

And with that, she was off.

000

It took a good fifteen minutes to climb up the stairwell and find her room amongst the dozens lining the hallway, but she finally did.

It was a modestly quaint thing. An undecorated bed on either end of the room with one next to a window. She gave a small grunt of satisfaction at the view, and started to unpack her stuff, loading books into the hanging shelf to the entryway's left, and placing a bible on top of the nightstand. She figured if the person she was bunking up with hadn't claimed the window seat, she might as well. AJ took the time to look over the rest of the room. In the center of the room, flush against the right wall, was a single chest of drawers with four units in it. Jack hoped she could get the top two drawers due to her height, as she doubted she'd be shorter than whoever she was bunking with.

By the drawers were two doors. One lead to a small walk-in closet that held nothing of interest aside from a few wire coat hangers. The other lead to a bathroom with a shower. She made a mental note to take one when it got closer to time on meeting the counsel.

AJ took a few steps back and sat on her bed, pondering why something as fancy as student counsel was wanting to see her. Was it because of her grades? She openly admitted she was a terrible student in high school, she had squeaked by in math and history by the skin of her teeth. Maybe she was going to be put on probation until she proved herself capable here?

She gave a small nod at the thought. This place was the cream of the cream—wouldn't make sense to let a bum like her just cruise through without pushing her to do better. Well, if she was one thing, she was a hard worker. AJ was gonna show them fancy pants know-it-alls what a simple gal like herself could do if she rolled up her sleeves.

With that in mind she rose, making a decision to go and kill some time until her meeting.


	2. Connections

It took a bit of asking around, but she had finally found something to entertain herself with. As it turned out, Cloudsdale had something she absolutely loved doing back on the farm. Well, two things, actually. Though she'd save the horseshoes for later. It wasn't as fun playing by yourself, and she hardly had time to make friends so far. Instead, she got directions, filled a bottle with water, and headed to a separate building around the back of the academy.

Despite her reluctance at coming to the college, now that she was here a small part of her was filled to bursting. There was just so much stuff to do here to fill her exercise itch. Bike routes, a track team, swimming, weights, all of it called to her. But not a single one of them called as much as the building she just stuck her head into.

It was an out of the way thing from the school proper, and as dirty as a high-end place could get away with, but it welcomed her with open arms.

She took a few steps inside the empty building, enjoying the quiet echo her footsteps made as she walked to the center of the room, where a risen and squared off arena lined with ropes awaited challengers.

As frail as some of the people had looked out there, she had a feeling the poor thing had a lot of downtime between matches. She shed off her half jacket and hat, tossing her billfold in the pile for good measure. AJ rolled her shoulders and moved over to a punching bag in the corner of the room.

She took her time, warming up with several slow aimed blows. Once she got her heartbeat up, she started to get more into it, expertly dodging imagined blows and countering. Soon, she had a tempo with her footwork, juking and delivering multiple hits with her fists. She stopped after a few moments of this, panting heavily.

Behind her, she could hear slow clapping. Jack wiped at her brow and turned around.

"Pretty nice show you put on there, rookie," a woman said, a cocky grin plastered on her face. AJ guessed the girl was part of the track team—she had the taunt, trim look of a runner. Not to mention the baby blue tracksuit. What really drew Jack's attention, however, was the hair. She didn't have a whole lot of experience with city folk, but that short cut mop had to be weird, even by more liberal standards. It was streaked with all the colors of the rainbow.

The girl stuck a thumb up, and brushed it past her nose. "Now, I wonder if you'd be that flashy in the ring?"

Jack crossed her arms, looking at the woman. "That a challenge?"

The multi-hued girl held back a laugh. "It depends on how tough you are, I guess. I don't think it'll be much of a challenge at all."

AJ crossly frowned, already tired of this girl's smug attitude. "Get on some pads an' get in the ring."

"With pleasure."

The two entered at opposite corners of the ring. AJ slapped her hands against the padded helmet she had donned. Pleased at its performance, she waited for the other to begin.

The athlete unbuttoned her tracksuit and tossed it to the side. She gave a small adjustment at the black sports bra she wore, and Applejack noticed a stylized mark in the shape of a cloud and a rainbow colored lighting bolt just below the girl's neckline.

_Explains the hair a little, _the farmer thought. _Actually, no. The hair's still weird._

The runner gave a small gesture to the side, simulating ringing a bell.

"Ding, ding," the girl said, grinning and putting in her mouthpiece.

In a flash, she had moved over eight feet, meeting AJ head on before she had even taken a step towards the center. The farmer gave a small gasp of surprise at the other's speed. She knew fast, but that girl was something else.

In less than two seconds since the fight started, the athlete had already started wildly attacking Jack, delivering dozens of punches at such a speed that her arms were blurs of color. AJ stood tall like a mountain and weathered the storm of blows, putting her forearms up to her face and moving her body like clockwork to avoid any lasting damage from the girl's unfocused swings. The southerner waited patiently for an opportunity to return the favor.

She found it seconds later, when the other briefly stalled on her punching tempo. AJ guessed the other girl was coming in for a cross; Jack suddenly snapped her entire torso backwards, going so vertical on her dodge that her upper back was nearly parallel with the floor. She smiled grimly when she saw the cross sail over her head.

For a brief moment, Jack was a primal, hauntingly beautiful force of nature. Her long untied hair seemed frozen in space, and her tanned, taunt skin was coated in the sheen of sweat. Her green eyes were pinprick dots in a sea of ivory. She was, plain and simple, a tiger, finally done stalking its prey.

Jack rose her hand up and pushed aside the girl's arm with her right, then shifted her foot. She was as taunt as a spring, and with a burst of energy she propelled her torso upwards and twisted her shoulder, calling forth one powerful arching downward strike, fulled by inertia and the farmer's own rock hard muscles. It connected directly onto the top of the girl's leather helmet with a crack.

The runner didn't stumble or shift from the blow; rather, she dropped like a sack of hammers, kissing the floor before Jack could even get back into her southpaw stance.

AJ hurried over to the other's side, afraid she had honestly hurt the girl. She had been holding back quite a bit of her strength, but it didn't help that everybody in this school seemed to be made of paper. With a tender care, the blonde took off the girl's helmet, and examined her.

The runner groaned, opening her rose colored eyes and reaching up to her head. "Damn, bro." She looked at her fingers, amazed they came back clean of blood. "Nice shot," she allowed, grinning weakly.

Jack reached down and took her hand, hoisting the runner up. The multi-hued woman nodded in appreciation, and took her time examining the southerner.

Finally, she came to a conclusion. "For a hayseed, you know how to handle yourself. I can dig that." She extended her hand once more. "Name's Dash."

"Jack," the farmer answered, shaking the girl's hand.

"Well, Jack. It was fun. I've been waiting for someone able to match me step for step-you would not believe how twiggy some of these guys are."

AJ nodded, moving to the corner of the ring and donning her jacket and hat again. "Next time, don't extend yer arm like that. Ya mighta actually got a good lick or two on me if ya were cautious."

Dash rolled her eyes. "Yeah, ok, _mom_. Cautious doesn't win you anything in racing, why should it win you fights?" The athlete put her track jacket back on, and gave her pixie cut hair a quick run through with her fingers, mussing it up. She ducked through the ropes around the ring, and headed for the door, Jack on her heels.

When they got outside, Dash gave a quick glance to the sky. "Tell you what, Jackie, tomorrow. Two outta three. I'm picking the sport, though."

"Fair enough, _Dashie_." The country girl snorted.

The athlete gave a small thumbs up. "Welp. I got places to go and things to do. Catch you in the funny papers, hayseed."

With that, the girl closed her eyes, and concentrated. She rested her hands at the base of her neckline. After a brief moment, two shimmering and translucent golden wings appeared inches away from Dash's back. She gave the slightest flex of her eyes and unfurled them, smugly grinning at the farmer the whole time. With a brisk leap into the air, she was off, the shimmering wings behind her easily carrying the woman towards the academy.

"Fancy pants sky folk," AJ grunted with a smirk, taking easy footsteps back towards the main building,

000

Jack returned back to her dorm room and washed up; after she got out of the shower and wrapped a towel around her body, she noted a black duffel bag plopped on the bed she hadn't claimed, and four posters on the wall away from the window. Her roommate must have came and went already while she was bathing. Feeling curious, she examined the posters.

One was a poster of Black Sabbath. AJ gave a small shrug, accepting what she saw so far. At least metal wasn't classical. The other three were of a girl a few years older than her with a golden bob-cut in various stages of undress. The first the woman had on a yellow flight suit, partially unzipped to show off her lithe body. Another had her dressed like a walking southern parody, complete with Daisy Duke shorts, a plaid shirt that was tied over her narrow bust, and a coil of rope wrapped around her waist in place of a belt.

"Yeah. Good luck gettin' work done in that gitup, sister," AJ said under her breath. She had tried working the fields in shorts. Once. After falling into a thorn-bush and cutting up her legs though, she promptly retired them. Though she had admittedly done the tied-over shirt once or twice as a joke with a few of Mac's friends.

The last image was simply her wearing what seemed to be a military garb for a scout of some kind—light leather armor, a padded open helmet, and a repeating crossbow with a flashlight at the end. Below her, in bright yellow font was one word: Spitfire.

AJ rolled her eyes.

"Pfft. What kinda stage name is 'Spitfire,' anyway?" she asked the empty room. On hearing no reply, she tossed aside her towel and donned some fresh clothing. AJ debated on grabbing the dirty laundry she had tossed onto the bathroom floor, but shrugged, deciding to worry about it later.

000

Jack was once again at the mercy of strangers as she asked around for the location to the student council room. Thankfully, she found someone who knew where it was after a few rounds.

She approached the door and gave a small, hesitant knock. After a few moments of not hearing anyone coming, she shrugged and entered, leaving the door open.

The room was apparently a slightly modified classroom—it had a few tables forming a perfect, angled square that encompassed most of the floor space. At the far end of the room was a podium loaded down with thick tomes that were probably light years away from Jack's interests.

On noticing nobody around, the woman took a window seat. The sunlight streamed through the windows, making where she sat a pocket of warmth and comfort. Seeing no harm in it, AJ kicked her feet onto the top of the table and leaned back in the chair. She tiled her hat forward, and shut her eyes. Just as she was about to nod off, a scratchy voice spoke up from the hallway.

"Hey guys! Sorry I'm-" Dash began, only to pause.

At the sound of the woman's voice, Jack tilted her hat back and stared.

The athlete stood frozen at the door, keeping an icepack flush with the top of her head as she looked over the country girl.

They both instantly pointed at one another.

"_You!_" they shouted in unison.

"What the heck you doin' here, hayseed?"

"I could ask ya the same question!"

Dash gave an incredulous look at AJ. "...Because... I'm... a student council member?" She slowly answered, as if explaining the fact to a lower life form.

"You? Really?" AJ asked, tilting her head at the girl. "Kinda surprisin'."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Dash replied, narrowing her eyes.

"'Cause ya seemed like a jock, is all." Jack bluntly retorted, putting her chair down on all fours and meeting Dash's gaze.

"High School GPA of 3.2 good enough for you, hayseed?" the athlete countered, moving across the room and sitting next to the girl. "Or you gonna wow me with yours?"

Jack blushed, mumbling something under her breath. Dash raised a brow.

"Wanna lay that down again for me, Jackie?"

"2.0. There. Happy, Egghead?" Jack snapped, crossing her arms with a deep frown.

Dash put her free hand up to her mouth in an attempt to hold back her laughter.

It failed. Horribly.

"Hahaha! That's great! You're nothing but muscle!" she howled, pounding on the table.

On seeing AJ's intense scowl and clenched fists, she lightened up.

A bit.

"J-just kiddin', Jack." She snorted back another titter of laughter. "Still though, how in God's name did you get in here with a GPA like _that_?"

Jack grew slightly morose. "I, uh, dunno," she honestly answered, rising to look out the window at the people still wandering the grounds. "I really am the odd man out here, ain't I? Ain't sure how in the hell I got in."

The woman glared down at the carpeted floor. "An' I ain't sure how long I'll even be able ta keep up with the smart folks 'round here, ya know?" She shook her head, bitterly wiping at her nose. "I'm jus' a dummy that's lucked out."

Jack felt a tender hand rest on her left shoulder.

"Bro, lighten up," Dash ordered, leaning forward to meet AJ's glance. "How you got her doesn't matter—hell, I bet half the guys and gals here bought their way in—what matters is that you slog through this, you know?"

Jack sighed, visibly slumping. "I—I guess, but-"

"No 'buts,' dude," the multi-hued girl instructed, giving a playful punch onto the farmer's shoulder as she guided the girl back to her seat. "Look, class hasn't even started yet; maybe you're freaking out for no reason. For all we know, you might do just fine on your own. If not..." Dash smirked, leaning back in her chair. "I'll give you a hand, me being an egghead and all."

AJ stared at the girl, her mouth slightly agape at the others kind offer. "Dash... thanks."

"Gotta make sure my rival sticks around. Been forever since someone's actually got me pumped for a rematch." Dash winked, giving a brief showing of her injury. AJ recoiled slightly at the discolored bump adorning Dash's crown.

"Shoulda held back more on my strength." Jack winced, feeling sorry for the athlete.

"Wait." Dash blinked. "You were holding back?!"

"Well, yeah," AJ countered, drumming her fingers on the table. "If I had went full force, I woulda cracked yer skull like a grapefruit, with or without gloves."

The athlete snorted. "Whatev." She stared at the ceiling briefly, before smiling and turning to face the farmer. "Oh yeah dude; speaking of eggheads, right? I have a feeling my roommate's an egghead from hell."

"Ah yeah?" Jack drawled, resting her chin on the palm of her hand.

"Totally." Dash nodded. She placed an arm around the back of her chair and kicked up her feet onto the table. "So, get this: I cruise through there to drop off my stuff, you know? I get to the room, and the gal's got all these books in the drawers already and a bible on the nightstand. Total square. I probably would have found like, a pair of rimmed glasses and a pocket protector if I had searched hard enough."

"Ain't nothin' wrong with a bit of readin'," AJ said, the girl's words hitting a bit close to home.

"Why read when you can go out and do stuff?" Dash replied, giving an exasperated shake of her head and a tired smile. "You just don't get it."

"I don't. How can someone with a higher GPA than me jus' blow off readin'? I had ta study all night fer a few of those C pluses."

"Just comes natural to me I guess."

Before AJ could express her disgust, a bouncing pink haired girl popped in through the door.

"Hi guys!" she chirped, moving to take a seat next to Dash. She waved with excitement to Jack, and began to babble, moving her mouth quicker than the southerner could keep up. "Wow, Jack! It's great to see you! I was wondering what you were doing after I ran off to talk to some people because I know the first day at school is scary and if I had time I was gonna throw a party for you and invite everyone in the school but then I realized that I wouldn't have time today but I was gonna come to your dorm room for a bit anyway in order to say hello but when I talked to the receptionist about where you lived at he told me you were coming to a student council meeting anyway so I thought I'd jus-"

The girl was silenced by a hand.

"Yeah, no. I'm getting a headache," Dash briskly said. "And where the heck are the others?"

"Shouldn't be too long! They're just busy!"

AJ shifted in her chair, taking off her hat and putting it on the table. "Who are these 'others?'" she asked.

"Mostly just nerds, but they're alright." Dash shrugged. "There's three others besides us. Uh, let's see..." She counted on a finger. "There's Chylene. She's a great gal who'd do anything to help someone who needed it—and I'm proud to say one of my first and best friends." The athlete spoke this tenderly, fondly smiling at the thought of the woman. "Though a bit quiet. Just don't do anything stupid and I'm sure she'll warm up to you.

"Then there's Twila Shields. She's, uh, interesting."

AJ gave a roll of her hand, encouraging the other to keep talking.

"The girl graduated from Camelot as a Summa Cum Laude with a 4.0 GPA."

"Sweet. _Jesus_." AJ nearly recoiled in shock. "_How?!_"

"She's scary smart." Pinkie nodded sagely.

"And that's not all. She's the Princess's private protege-"

"That was a lot of 'p's,' wasn't it?" Pinkie precariously pondered.

"Uh... yeah," Dash agreed.

"So ya mean ta tell me Celestia's sent one of her own ta this school?" AJ whistled. "Ain't that somethin'."

"Last one's Rarity Belle. She's a high-class type, so she fits right in here," Dash said, taking the icepack off of her head.

AJ rubbed her chin. "Belle sounds familiar ta me."

"Shouldn't be surprising. Her daddy's all over the news."

It finally clicked for the farmer. "Ah, yeah. He's a, uh, diplomat, ain't he?"

Dash nodded. "Been hashing out trade negotiations with the Maconites for years now. He's single-handily got us close to opening trade routes with them. Imagine, bro; we'd have access to things from across the world at our fingertips! I hear Maconites have this, like, combustion engine that kicks the crap outta our steam ones."

Jack crossed her hands behind her head, looking over at the girl. "No kiddin'? That'd be somethin' mighty nifty ta have 'round fer sure."

The sound of heels clicking near the door alerted them of another person entering.

"My apologies," a earthen toned woman dressed in a lavender button up shirt said, pushing her violet bangs back behind her ear and shuffling the collection of notebooks in her arm. "I had to inform Spike of a few things, and lost track of the time."

"No big, Twi." Dash shrugged. "Ain't like Rarity or Chy are here yet anyway."

"Still?" the woman questioned, pushing her black rimmed glasses up the bridge of her narrow nose. "I had not expected them to take this long. I suppose we should begin regardless." She gave a warm smile towards Jack. "Miss Apple, correct?"

"Uh, eyup. That's me."

The woman extended her hand. "Quite the pleasure to meet you. My name's Twila Shields. You're welcome to call me Twila, Twi, or, well, anything in between."

"Just don't call her Shirley!" Diane butted in cheerfully.

Twila looked at Pinkie, scratching the star shaped mark on her cheek. "Who's Shirley?"

"I dunno." The pink haired girl shrugged.

Twila sighed, dropping the conversation and returning her attention back to AJ. "Well, it's quite the pleasure to meet you, Miss Apple."

"Jus' call me Jack. Miss Apple was my mama; God rest her soul."

The girl pushed up her glasses once more, and brushed off a piece of lint off of her black skirt. "Well, in any case, Jack, I am correct in assuming you are curious as to why you are here, yes?"

The farmer rubbed her mouth. "Uh, yeah, kinda."

"A fair question." Twila took a few steps and went behind the podium. "And one we shall address in but a moment—first, however," She looked down on a sheet of paper. "We need to officially check attendance."

"Oh come on!" Dash exclaimed, gesturing to the two girls at either side of her. "We're right here!"

"We have a procedure to follow!" Twi tapped the paper with the back of her fingers. "So let's start it so we can get to the next order of business." She cleared her throat. "Diane Pie."

"That's me!" Pinkie exclaimed, jumping from her seat and waving a hand in the air. "Here! I'm here!"

Twila gave a brisk nod, returning to her paper. "Hmm. Good. Chylene Hutchinson?"

"Um... I-I'm here." A quiet, demure voice whispered from the other side of the room. Everyone turned their attention towards the voice. In the shadows sat a pale girl who nervously fidgeted with her hands. She reached for a napkin that was on the table and took to folding it, running it over her slender, delicate fingers as she stared straight down.

"Yo, Chy. 'Sup?" Dash called over to her. "Didn't even hear you walk in."

The girl seemed perplexed, putting her hands up to the top of yellow sweater in surprise. "I-I said 'hello' to everyone..."

Twila nodded, making a check on her paper with a pencil. "Alright then. Rarity Belle?"

Dead silence.

The girl sighed, pushing up her glasses. "Well. I suppose I should mark her abs-"

"Right here, darlings!" a chipper tone called out.

In walked a woman with precisely curled and dolled up purple hair, dangling silver earrings, and azure eyes that seemed to pierce through AJ's soul. On her cheek were three diamonds that spoke of utter perfection. The woman—because calling an object of such feminine charm and grace a girl would be tantamount to sacrilege—ran a well manicured hand over her pure white dress that left very little to the imagination, thanks to the low cut that exposed her ample cleavage, and the slit that ran up to her thigh at the right. Yep. She was the epitome of class in AJ's eyes.

Which meant that the farmer had an instant dislike of her.

The woman walked easily across the room in her high heels and sat dainty upon a chair next to Chylene, crossing her legs and resting her hands on top of one knee.

"Good, good." Twilight nodded. "That just leaves Isabelle Ritter."

Dead silence rang throughout the room. AJ felt a sudden shift as everybody's eyes turned to focus on Dash.

She scrunched up her face. "Damn it, Twila, I don't like being called that."

"But it's your na-"

"Yeah. Yeah. I know, believe me." Dash waved a nonchalant hand. "Here."

"Good!" The girl of the soul folk beamed, looking at everybody present from behind the podium. "We're all present and accounted for. Next up on the list is the notes from yesterday's meeting. Please do the honors, Miss Belle."

"With pleasure," the beautiful woman cooed, fluttering her eyelashes briefly in a joking attempt to be coy. Rarity took a glance at a small day-planner, and began reading. "Attendance is called. Everybody absent save for Rarity Belle and Twila Shields. Three rounds of bridge are played instead of discussing topics, with Rarity being the winner in all occurrences."

"Ok, ok. That's enough recapping, Miss Belle."

"Glad to be of service, darling."

Twila turned her attention back to the farmer. "Right. Let's get to business then." She raised her finger, and it suddenly became enveloped in a purple aura. With that, she pointed to the center of the room, where a strange violet portal seemed to open up. Suddenly, an image appeared inside the portal of dozens of papers, all with middling grades at best. AJ identified them as her own work.

"Jack Apple. You've never been the best student, have you?"

"Uh, no ma'am." She blushed.

"Yet you're here. Why is that?"

At that, Jack scowled. "I've put myself through that same damn song and dance earlier, I don't know."

"I'll tell you why," Twila quietly said. She waved her hand once to the left, and the portal blinked, revealing a new set of papers. "What can you tell me about these?"

AJ squinted at the picture, before realization suddenly snapped into her. "Oh! Ain't that stuff from my Agriculture class?"

"Correct." Twila leaned slightly on AJ's table, giving a sidelong glance towards the farmer. "Anything different about this compared to the ones I showed you earlier?"

The farmer wryly smiled. "Well, I sure as sugar didn't see near as much red on those."

"Jack. In between the two Agriculture related classes you took throughout your academic career, you averaged a 99.8%. _I_ didn't even average that in an Ag class."

With a quick pinching motion of her finger and thumb, the image zoomed in on the top left segment. Twila gave a gentle brush left and right with her hand, shifting a few other papers in the image to the side, showcasing a single, modestly thick report.

"This was your final paper, correct? The one about mutating a strain of DNA in the Apple genome to produce a more bountiful crop, and how it might be applicable in other vegetable and fruit production?"

AJ took off her hat and scratched at her head. She was pretty sure she never made a paper sound that fancy in her life, but she did recall writing one about hybrid apple types. "Uh, yeah. I did. Why?"

Twila gazed, flabbergasted. "Jack," she said, gesturing intently at the paper shown at the portal's mouth. "With this formula and design you just potentially increased food production for the entire nation-provided it's applicable to other fruit bearing trees."

"Sugar, all I did was luck out an' make an' apple hybrid that gets 'em to produce in tighter clusters on trees. I ain't solvin' world hunger or nothin'."

"Not yet, at least," Twi retorted. "But if we were to allow you a chance to bring your knowledge forward to other bright minds that are more... _refined _than yours? Can you _imagine_ what we could do?" Twila stared hard at the woman, seemingly debating on sharing something. She decided to go ahead. "It's why you're enrolled here. I pulled a few strings in order for the academy to forgive you regarding your lower grades."

She gave a slow turn of her head, meeting everyone's eyes as she circled the room. "Every single one of you I believe belongs in Camelot due to your abilities. Being here in the school is the first step towards a brighter tomorrow."

Jack held her tongue. Frankly, she didn't care about about Camelot; she was just as happy as could be on the farm. However, since Twila had revealed that she had twisted a few arms in order to help, the farmer would at least briefly consider the possibility before throwing it away.

"Now, due to you being new at the academy, I suggest you take some time to grow accustomed with your classmates. School doesn't begin officially until Wednesday, so prepare while you can."

Jack put her hat back on. Her plans for tomorrow were more or less the same thing.

"Just be prepared, _Jackie_. I'm not gonna lose at my own game tomorrow." Dash spoke up, grinning defiantly.

"Goshin'! We'll be a—seesin' 'bout that, Miz Isbelle," AJ spoke, intentionally amplifying her accent to almost unintelligible malarkey.

"Don't call me that," Dash snapped back. "Hate that name."

"Well, I for one think it's positivity radiant name." Rarity beamed, leaning forward as she watched the two staring daggers at one another.

"It's a dumb name," the athlete countered.

"If you say so, dear." The mature woman easily shrugged.

Twila butted into the conversation, glancing at everyone present. "Now, I'm sure all of you want to return to your dormitories in order to resume unpacking, so I'm going to adjourn this meeting. Before we depart, let's give a big round of applause for our newest member, Jack Apple."

The farmer was soon surrounded by the noise of clapping, with Dash giving her a hard slap on the back. AJ wanted to protest joining the council but held her tongue. Again.

The fact of the matter was: she owed Twi a lot more that just joining the group. Jack should be cleaning toilets or something due to her terrible GPA, and instead she was drafted into student council? Only one thing to say to that.

"Uh, pleasure ta be aboard." Jack nervously grinned.

000

AJ spent the rest of the day exploring the school with Pinkie Pie at her side. It was close to ten when she retired to her room; Jack was always more of an early riser, so she changed, grabbed her dirty clothes and chucked them into a pile on her side, then sat and read a bit by the light of a lamp. After finishing a few verses, she put the book back on top of her nightstand, and splayed her tall body across the bed, noting with a bit of irritation that the lower part of her legs dangled freely over the footrest.

Moments before she was about to drift off, she was startled alert by the sound of loud footsteps and humming. The doorknob leading to the hallway twisted, and the silhouette of a person walked into the dark room.

Jack couldn't resist. After a few moments, she flicked on her lamp, lighting the room and drawing her attention to the lithe, nearly nude form of Dash. The athlete stared in surprise, so shocked at the sudden light that she froze, still in the middle of taking off her shirt.

AJ stared hard at Isabella, equally frozen at the switch on her lamp. So s_he_ was the square that Dash was talking about earlier?

Both of them were spurred into action at the same time, and only one expression fit their feelings right now. Both pointed boldly at the other in shock and exclaimed in unison, "_You!_"

000

The man stared, looking out of his office windows at the lit skyscrapers battling against the dark night. He was the picture of calm, from his muscular, still body adorned in a well pressed suit, to his black leather shoes, polished to a nearly mirror shine. He observed the nighttime ambiance with both of his hands clasped tightly behind his back.

From behind him, the man heard a sharp knock at his door. He waited patiently by the large bay window, far from concerned at who could be disturbing him at this hour. He didn't have to wait long; in stumbled a young man dressed in a slightly more frumpy suit. The younger of the two nervously adjusted his tie, and fought back the butterflies in his stomach as he approached near the well crafted mahogany desk.

The man by the window spoke. "Mr. Blueblood. I appreciate your prompt arrival."

"O-of course, sir." He nodded, sweating slightly. He felt like vomiting just from being close to the man, but fought back his fright, speaking as calmly as he could. "M-might I ask what you need me for, sir?"

The man finally turned from the window.

He gave an approving glace at Blueblood that sent shivers of discomfort up the younger one's spine, and spoke, stroking his silvery-gray goatee. "I have a... request I believe you may be able to help me with."

The man moved to the nearby desk, sitting in an overstuffed black leather chair with a small sigh of contentment. "She's at Cloudsdale Academy right now. It'd be the _perfect_ time to send a message, wouldn't you say?"

Blueblood nodded, needing no clarification on who the man meant. "You can count on me." He bowed, turning to leave. Before he could move, he felt a hard hand on his shoulder. The youngster winced and turned his head, nearly coming face to face with his employer.

_How did he—he was sitting down just a second ago!_ Blueblood's panicked thoughts screamed at him.

"Remember..." the man started in a low, quiet voice. "A message. Scare her. We don't need to resort to violence." At that, his face split into a wide, sickly grin that made Blueblood nearly recoil.

"Yet," the man added, punctuating the sentence with a single, low chuckle filled to the brim with threats and actions that shouldn't exist in a civilized world. Or an uncivilized one, for that matter.

Blueblood nodded, self preservation the only thing keeping him from fainting at the dangerous glint in the other's eyes. "O-of course, Mr. Dorcis."

The man quickly (but politely) walked out of the office at that point. Dmitri laughed once more at his assistant's actions, and plopped back down into his chair. After a quick adjustment of his cufflinks, he lit a cigar and returned to work.


	3. Smoothing out the wrinkles

A shrill ringing punctured the early morning dimness inside Jack's room. The farm girl easily reached over and turned off her alarm, glancing at it in surprise.

_Five-thirty already?_ she marveled, quickly getting up and throwing open the curtains, letting the sunshine in.

From across the room, she heard a deep, agonizing groan.

Isabella looked like she had just woken up from the world's biggest bender. Her short, rainbow dyed hair stuck out at bizarre angles, and she clutched her head tightly as her bloodshot eyes looked about.

The athlete paused for a beat until she finally started to focus at the objects littering the room. Finally, Dash licked her dry lips. "Time?"

"Five-thirty," Jack chipperly answered, humming to herself as she dug through the chest of drawers. She pulled out a set of clothes and cradled them in her arms.

"_Why?_" Dash muttered in agony, slumping back into her bed and putting her arm over her eyes.

"Ain't much of an' early bird, are ya, Wings?" AJ joked. On seeing the athlete's humorless glare, the farmer retreated to the bathroom.

After taking a quick shower and brushing her teeth, she stepped back out, noting with disdain that Dash had sprawled halfway off the bed and was loudly snoring.

Jack shook her head, torn between waking up the slug, or taking a look around.

Deciding that pissing off her roommate this early in the game was a dumb call, she headed out into the hall.

000

Her feet wandered almost as much as her mind. Eventually, both came to the same conclusion, taking the southerner to a modestly classy dining room. Empty tables lined the area; only a brave few had actually decided to get a bite this early. However, she did notice a pink haired girl in a yellow sweater chatting quietly with a violet haired beauty.

AJ was anything but bashful on most occasions, so she easily approached the two and sat by them. Though she did keep an eye on the classy lady next to her—she'd seen what big talking city slickers could do and learned to be a little wary around them.

"Chylene an' Rarity, ain't it?"

"Indeed it is, Jacqueline," Rarity agreed, tossing her hair to the side. Across the table, the pink haired girl looked down at her oatmeal and silently nodded.

"Jacqueline?" the farmer repeated, looking as if the word had left a bad taste in her mouth. "Nah. Jus' 'Jack,' Rare."

"My apologies." Rarity ran a finger along a silver necklace clasped around her collarbone and leaned forward, taking a forkful of salad into her mouth. She dabbed at her mouth with a napkin. "I simply assumed that Jack was short for a more... regal name."

"Jus'. Jack." The farmer frowned.

"That must be terrible, wouldn't you agree, Chylene?" the fashionable woman asked.

"W-well-" Chylene began, only to be cut off.

"What in the heck's wrong with 'Jack?" AJ snapped.

Rarity put a manicured finger lightly to her chin, looking intently at the farmer. "It's fairly masculine, wouldn't you say?"

Jack briefly felt like her emotions were a roulette wheel. She was caught between letting it slide—she was a tomboy after all, and it wasn't like the insult bothered her—and strangling the woman.

She settled for a middle ground.

"It look like I'm the sorta gal that cares 'bout bein' all girly?" Jack scratched her arm. "Lady, I run a farm with my brother; I ain't got the time or enough of my daddy's money ta dress myself up like some sorta dumb, frou-frou fancy fairy-tale doll." She gestured at Rarity's well designed and frilled dress. "Unlike some people."

Rarity face became flushed. "I'll have you know that this," she gestured down at her dress. "Is far from a waste of time like you're implying, Ms. Apple."

"Well, ya sure as hell coulda fooled me."

The classy woman rose, shaking her head in blatant disdain. "I suppose that will be my call to leave, Chylene. It is not becoming of a woman to associate with such an... an..._ ogre_. I hope you have a pleasant day," she tensely said, her heels clacking away as she walked towards the exit.

"Y-you too," the girl squeaked, hiding behind her bangs and watching Rarity leave.

Jack shook her head. "What's up with that woman?"

Chylene swallowed under AJ's gaze. "W-well... s-she might have been just a _teensy_ bit upset at you for the china doll comment."

"Ya mess with the bulls, ya get the horns, sugar."

A waiter approached the two and asked Jack if she was hungry. Without breaking stride, she ordered fried hashbrowns and a serving of sausage links, then returned to her conversation as the waiter left.

"'Sides," Jack easily continued, "that's all them fancy-pants people do: buy girly clothes that are more expensive than the animal that they came from, an' then trounce 'round bein' show-offs."

"She's not like that," Chylene defensively said, her tone slightly louder than her previous near-whisper.

AJ tilted her hat back. "'Course she is. I mean, did ya see what she was wearin'? I bet she pai-"

"She made that," Chylene said, finally meeting the southerner's gaze. "And she might, um, like fancy things, but it doesn't mean that she thinks she's b-better than us."

"She made that fancy getup?" AJ asked, needing a moment for the information to sink in.

"Oh yes. And, well, most of my clothes." She said, slightly nodding her head down at the yellow cashmere sweater she wore. "I, uh, didn't have money for a-anything nice, so she..."

The waiter returned with Jack's order, and almost as soon as the plate touched the table, she tore ravenously into it. Chylene turned slightly green while watching the farmer wolf down the food.

Jack gave some thought to what the quiet girl just said to her. With one more swallow of her meal, she begrudgingly accepted that maybe she snapped at Rarity a bit too hard. She sighed, wiping at her mouth with a sleeve. "If what yer sayin' 'bout her's true, I guess I'd best go apologize. Any idea where she'd rund oft to?"

"Well... it's Tuesday, s-so I would guess she went to her shop in Ponyville," Chylene reasoned.

"She has a shop?" AJ dumbly asked. In a small corner of her mind, she wondered how much money Rarity's daddy had to pump into the place to get it off the ground.

"Y-yes." the pale girl nodded. "T-though if you're wanting to apologize to her, it doesn't open until seven."

Jack sighed. "Great. Guess I got myself some time ta kill." She rested her arms on the table. "An' what are ya doin' up so early when this whole place is dead, Chy? Got yerself some plans?"

"W-well... I get up this early to tend to the animals living on the grounds," Chylene whispered, fidgeting slightly when Jack leaned forward to hear her.

"Animals? Shucks, this place have a stable or somethin'?" the farmer asked, excitement bubbling slightly at the possibility.

"Yes!" Chylene nodded with enthusiasm, visibly relaxing when the conversation turned to the creatures. "Two stables, actually. Filled with some of the prettiest horses you've ever seen."

Jack widely grinned at this revelation-not the smile of a woman, but the smile of an eight year old still believing in everyday magic. "Would ya be alright with a helper?"

000

They worked the stables together for an hour or two, and both learned a bit about one another. Jack, through a bit of prying, learned that the girl's mother was from France, and her father was from New Gainsburg, a little town about two or three hours past the southerner's farm. Most importantly, AJ learned about the quiet girl's empathy for animals—for all her years running cattle and raising horses, Jack wasn't even [i]half[/i] as good as that gal was in calming skittish ponies down.

Jack, for her part, talked about her farm and family, from her quiet and kind brother, Macintosh, to her sharp Granny, and finally speaking of her curious sister, Bloom.

Before either of them knew it, the clock had struck nine, and Jack bid farewell to the taciturn girl.

The farmer went to the front of the academy, and as she rounded the corner of the large building, she grinned in recognition at a scene before her.

Sitting next to the large, gently flowing fountain was Hans, asleep at the driver's seat on his carriage. As she stomped her way through the grass and neared the stone walkways of the school, she put a thumb and finger at either corner of her mouth and blew.

He snapped to attention, grasping the reins that had nearly drooped from his hands, and looking quickly around for who called on him. On seeing it was AJ, his expression softened.

"Miss Apple," he addressed.

"Mornin', Hans. What ya up to?"

The elderly man smiled. "Well, I brought Miss Pie to school a moment ago, and I suppose I nodded off. We had a riveting conversation about alligators," Hans said, not a trace of sarcasm in his tone.

Jack rubbed at her chin. "Gators? Ya know, I can see that girl talkin' yer ear off 'bout them." She moved over to the horses at the head of the carriage, giving each of them a friendly pat. "Now, uh, Hans? What time ya usually go towards town? An, uh, what kinda rate ya charge?" She briefly thought of her small collection of gold bits, wincing slightly.

He shook his head. "Don't bother with emptying your coin purse, Miss Apple. Hop on and I'll take you now."

000

They rode together on the dirt path, each one enjoying the fresh air and moment of silence the ride gave them.

It was AJ who broke the quiet first. "Hans?"

He leaned his ear a bit closer to the farmer, but didn't take his eyes of the road.

"Ya know anythin' 'bout a gal named Rarity Belle?"

Hans leaned back slightly, closing his eyes in thought. "Hmm... she's Curtis Belle's kin; runs a _very_ reputable shop in town—Carousel Boutique."

"Sounds fancy."

"Like the lady," he casually agreed. "It seems to draw the high crust society in. Quite a few designers and actors are enthralled by that woman's creativity."

"More money than sense, those snobby fancy-pants types."

"Most of them," he answered. "Not her, though. She at least is decent to folks, and helps out St. Charles."

Jack leaned back on the wooden seat, cracking her knuckles. "How so?"

The elderly man scratched his ear. "With her family being so well-to-do already, Miss Belle typically donates almost all the proceeds from her enterprise and returns it to the community."

"Generous," Jack quietly admitted, finally quashing the nagging voice of resentment that was whispering in her ear.

"She's a good woman, Miss Apple, despite her fascination with high-society. I hope you at least give her a chance."

"I hope she gives me a second one."

000

Hans dropped her off on the main road of Ponyville and unhitched his horses, intent on letting them get a drink. Jack took a moment to pop her stiff back, then traveled towards the town's bakery.

She gave a nod of approval at the quaint thing. Wooden building, large glass windows with the one on the left of the door proclaiming [i]Sugar Cube Corner[/i] in bold print and a row of chairs lining the inside. As she pushed open the entryway, a bell jingled, alerting the man watching the counter to her presence.

He was a lean middle aged man with stubble all across his jawline. He gave a polite tip of his paper hat towards the southerner and rested his hands on the glass counter loaded with baked goods.

Before Jack could even say a word, something caught her attention.

Past the counter and down a small hallway was a brown door marked _Employees only._ From inside, the farmer could hear the distinct sound of a young woman singing a low soprano. It was too crisp and real to be coming from a radio or television; the farmer couldn't help but chuckle.

"Sounds like ya'll got yerself a regular ol' hootenanny back there."

The man laughed, drumming his fingers along the counter. "That's just Pinkie," he explained. "She has a habit of singing while she mixes ingredients in the kitchen."

AJ smiled. Her sister did the same thing when helping their Granny. "Speakin' of that girl, I'm a classmate of hers; care ta call her out her fer me? I needed ta ask somethin'."

He nodded, slowly moving down the hallway. He opened the door a crack and muttered something. Jack heard a chipper "Okey-Doky!" come from the room, and then the man stepped on through.

Diane Pie promptly bounced down the hallway and gave a flourished wave of her hand once she came to a stop near Jack. She looked up at the farmer, beaming.

"Hi Jack! Mr. Cake said you needed me for a second? What's going on? Do you need a hand with something? Oh! Is it a _party_?!" She squealed, clapping her hands together. "You're throwing a party for Dash? Like a roommate bonanza?! Wow! That's-"

Pinkie was promptly silenced by a strong, calloused hand covering her mouth.

"Darlin. Ain't no need ta talk that fast. I'll tell ya what's goin' on, alright?"

The pink haired girl nodded intensely, her poofy hair rocking in tedium with her jostling head.

"Ok then." Jack removed her hand. "I jus' had a quick question fer ya, what with ya bein' part of the bakery in town an' all."

Pinkie moved to stand behind the glass counter. "No, we're not hiring—sorry Ja-"

"Ain't it neither," the farmer said. "I was jus' wonderin' if Rarity visits this shop?"

"Well, duh," Diane easily answered. "We're only, like, the best bakery in town!" She reconsidered her words after a beat. "Actually, we're the _only_ bakery in town. We win by default!"

"T-that's great, Sugar. Now, ya wouldn't happen ta know if there's any of yer goods Rarity Belle has a likin' to, would ya?"

"Indeedly-doodly! Why you ask, though?"

Jack scratched her neck, unable to hide a shaky grin. "I mighta got hot under the collar and pissed her off this morning."

Pinkie raised a hand. "Say no more! I know exactly what you need!" The girl leaned down heavily on the counter and spoke in a low, conspiratorial tone to the farmer. "Even though she's, like, so proper and stuff, Rarity goes crazy over my lemon bars! You give her a batch made by little ol' Pinkie Pie, she'll be putty in your hands, champ!" Diane winked, a knowing smile on her face.

Jack caught on real quick what the other meant. "Are ya implyin' I might be interested in courtin' that woman?!" Her aghast face spoke everything she needed to say about that idea.

"Don't be silly!" Diane casually chided. "You don't want to court her!" Her expression instantly fell into a deep, menacing frown. "She's got the best lawyers in the country on speed-dial."

"Not what I..." The blonde woman put a finger and thumb to the bridge of her nose. "Ya know what? Never mind. Pinkie, ya reckon ya could get me a pan a lemon bars all cooked up in a jiffy?"

"Okey dokie loki!" The girl giggled, stepping away from the counter and towards the back. As she reached the door, she instantly paused. "Almost forgot! I need someone to watch the counter!" Pinkie ran back and began to rummage behind the division, humming merrily.

The farmer rubbed at the Mark on her hand. "Well, I've ran our stand before at the farmer's market. If ya need me to I reckon I-"

Diane let out a gasp of surprise. "There you are, Gummy!" she exclaimed.

Jack tilted her head and took a careful step closer, only for Diane to suddenly hoist a small alligator up in her hands and put him on the counter.

"[i]Jesus Christ[/i]!" AJ shouted, backpedaling a few steps away from the forearm length creature and crashing into a chair.

Pinkie scratched at her head, frowning at the farmer's sudden action. "Something wrong, Jack?"

AJ's brain shorted out and her mouth was moving, but no words were actually coming out. She took a breath to reset her system. "Diane. What are ya doin' with an alligator in a bakery?"

"He's my pet!" she proudly exclaimed.

"A-ain't that, uh, dangerous?"

The hyper girl stared blankly at AJ. "Don't be a silly head! I got him detoothed! Watch!" She opened his jaw and stuck her hand into its mouth. The gator began to absentmindedly chew on the appendage, staring blankly at a spot in the ceiling as it did so. Pinkie giggled. "His gum tickles." Her expression grew serious. Or, as serious as a girl's could be with their hand in a toothless gator's mouth. "Gummy, I need you to watch the counter. Can you do that for mommy?"

The alligator continued to stare at a spot in the ceiling, not reacting in the slightest to Diane's question.

"That's my baby." The pink haired girl nodded in approval. She pulled her hand out of his mouth and wiped it on the apron she wore. "I'll be back in a jiffy!" Pinkie called to the farmer, turning and heading to the back.

Jack stared warily at the alligator, sitting as far away from it as she could.

"An... alligator... as a pet," she stammered.

Jack still couldn't wrap her head around it. Sure, when she was younger AJ had a few odd pets herself; a frog she found by their pond, a lizard picked up in the fields, and her pet pig Marseille, who later on in life would make the best ham Jack had ever tasted. But there was a difference in her strange pets over Diane's—Jack's pets wouldn't eat her if their teeth ever grew back.

[i]Wait, do [/i][i]alligators[/i][i]' teeth grow[/i][i] back? [/i]she pondered, putting a thumb to the corner of her thin mouth. AJ didn't [i]think[/i] they did, but-

"Jack!" a voice loudly called, physically making the farmer recoil from her thoughts. Pinkie stood above her, waving a hand over Jack's eyes. In her other hand was a round, flat box wrapped in paper with images of balloons and streamers on it.

"Sorry Pinkie. Jus' got a bit lost in thinkin'."

"It's fine!" Diane dismissed with a friendly shrug, before pointing to the small box in her hands. "I got an order of ultra good, scrumdiddlyumptious lemon bars for you!"

"Alrighty." Jack rose from her chair, reaching into her jean pockets and pulling out a small coin purse. "How much I owe ya'll?"

"Two bits, if you please."

The farmer raised a brow. "Huh. Ya'll sell cheap." She pulled out two small, wafer-thin coins made out of solid gold and jangled them in her hand.

"It's why we're always so busy! _Everyone_ knows we have some of the best deals in town!" Pinkie exclaimed, moving over to the counter and opening the register with the quick press of a button. She took Jack's money and handed the farmer the carefully wrapped package.

_Or it might be because you're the only bakery in town, sugar,_ Jack thought.

Pinkie blew on the fingertips of her hand and rubbed them against her shirt. "Another satisfied customer," she casually said.

"Eyup. Thanks Pinkie. I'm sure Rarity'll love 'em."

With that, Jack left the store, the bell above the door signaling her departure.

Pinkie gave a coy smile towards her pet and nudged the alligator with her elbow. Gummy stared blankly at a spot on the ceiling.

000

Jack tromped across the small town, more or less going by feel on where she thought a place as high-crust as Carousel Boutique would be. She figured it'd be open, tall, and eye-catching.

She was right on all three guesses.

The building was located in a clearing that could have been a small park—grass and maple trees dotted the plot of land, and in the center, down the way of a finely laid brick pathway, was a tall, circular building adorned in a regal purple banner. At the mouth of the path was a sign showcasing the store's name and hours of operation.

"Jus' like the owner; all kinds a fancy, nothin' practical," she complained to nobody before mentally rebuking herself.

The reason she was heading towards this fancy shop in the first place was because she lunged at Rarity's throat so quick this morning, instead of letting the small (and possibly unintended) insult roll off her back.

_At least yer apoligizin'. That's what matters,_ the voice of her cool-headed brother reassured.

She sighed, defeated, and began the short walk to the front door, where a small sign written in delicate, swirling script read, _I assure you we're open._

Jack sucked in a breath and opened the door.

As she pulled it open, a four note chime rang through the building.

"Be with you in a moment!" Rarity called out in a sing-song tone from down the hallway in the back.

Jack took the brief moment to look over the showroom.

It was a precise, calculated area positivity reeking of class, from the daintily clothed mannequins on the sides of the room displaying Rarity's latest designs in all their frilly glory, to the island table in the center of the room weighed down with bottles of all make and model, most of them with chic sounding names like _Fleur-de-lis_ and _Sanctity_. Jack had a feeling she'd gag at half their scents.

Towards the far wall were dozens of wigs of all lengths and colors—one was even a spitting image of the mop a certain multi-hued athlete called her hair. Jack put her box of goodies on the island and moved over to it, briefly marveling at how realistic all of them felt.

"I'm sorry about that, darling," Rarity said from the hallway, her heels clicking with a timed rhythm on the clean and well crafted hardwood flooring. She took a step into the showroom. "Now, what would you fanc-"

The soul child instantly stopped speaking when she saw who had came in. She looked up and stared at Jack's face, before running her eyes down the rest of the farmer's body and freezing when she saw AJ's boots.

Her eyebrow twitched. Violently.

The boots were caked with mud, and the floor had a trail of it all the way from the front door.

Rarity snapped her head back up, staring hard at Jack. "Of all the—do you _ever_ wipe your feet when entering somebody's establishment, you, you... _Ruffian_?!" Rarity screeched, seemingly on the edge of panic as she put her hands to her face, her eyes switching from the mud caked door then shooting over to where Jack stood now.

"Well, excuse me fer forgettin' ta wipe my boots after lookin fer yer shop fer so long!" Jack snapped back, rubbing at her temples as Rarity sat on a stool by the perfumes. "Look, jus' give me a broom an' I'll sweep it."

"And mop."

The farmer glanced up at the ceiling, as if asking she was being punished. On hearing no answer, she returned her gaze to the classy woman. "Yeah," she grimly answered. "An' moppin'."

Rarity seemed to lighten up a bit at that information, sitting up and turning towards the hallway. She lifted her finger and held out a hand as far from her body as she could. Her finger become surrounded in a light blue aura, and Jack heard a shuffling clatter from the other room, followed by the sound of a door opening and closing. Then a broom and dustpan propelled themselves into the showroom. Rarity caught both with a nonchalant ease and handed them to the astounded farmer.

"Ya soul folk sure like takin' the easy way out."

Rarity brushed her curled bangs away from her face. "If you've got the talent, you might as well flaunt it, darling. I didn't spend three years of my life in magic training to not use it on occasion."

Jack began to sweep the floor, gathering as much of the dirt into one pile as she could. "Why do soul folk have ta go to their own school fer a bit, anyway? Don't exactly seem fair to 'em."

"It's not," Rarity easily answered, reaching towards the counter and picking up a nail file. "But it's the law, and a needed one."

"But-"

"No 'buts,' Jack." Her face grew surprisingly stern. "Untrained magic is dangerous. _Very_ dangerous. It was a problem not being able to graduate with my friends from high-school, but I understood why I had to leave."

"Hmm," Jack grunted, sweeping her mess into the dustbin. "Never really talked ta a soul folk before 'bout their trainin'. So yer sayin' the school is around ta make sure ya can't hurt anyone?"

The soul child gestured, levitating the broom and dustbin away from Jack, and replacing it with a mop and bucket full of steaming hot water. "Not quite," she answered, lowering her voice. "It's so we can't hurt ourselves." She swallowed, giving her hand a small wave. "B-but I'd rather not talk about something so morbid. If the subject interests you, I suggest speaking with Twila—she's quite fascinated with every facet of magic."

"Guess I jus' might do that."

Rarity gave another small wave after AJ finished, taking the mop and bucket away. Jack bent down, looking over the puddles that her mopping had left behind.

"Hey, Rare, could you magic me a towel ov-" Jack was smacked in the face by a towel before she could finish what she was saying.

Rarity gave an innocent, 'who, me?' shrug, and seemed to take a keen interest in her perfumes.

The farmer moved to the front door and started wiping up. She slowly and carefully approached the spills nearest Rarity, and cracked a devilish grin. She placed it down on the ground and folded a corner in. Then, she began to roll it up tightly. Finally, with a twist, her rat-tail was ready.

With a loud, feral yell, she rose up and swung her whip forward, cracking Rarity square on her shapely backside. The violet haired woman yelped, jumping off the chair. Rarity shot a furious glare at AJ as she rubbed her butt.

That's when Jack lost it. The farmer cracked up, clutching her sides and turning beat red. She tossed her head back and sank down to her knees, still howling with laughter.

Rarity tried to stay mad, but on seeing AJ nearly collapsed to the floor in a fit, the well-dressed lady couldn't help but join in, laughing long and hard enough to make her eyes well up with mirthful tears.

A few minutes later, once they both had calmed down slightly, Rarity wiped a tear from her eyes and noted with disdain that her mascara had run. She wiped it off of her face and made a mental note to reapply it as soon as she could.

"I must admit," the proper lady said in a reserved tone, "that when you first arrived in my shop, I was loath to speak with you after what you said this morning."

"I'm sorry 'bout that," Jack answered, wincing slightly. "I jumped ya unjustly—at my farm once we had some fellas that were a lot like you. High-end an' everythin'. They, uh, didn't do my brother right on a few deals an' we lost a lot of money." She met Rarity's gaze. "But yer different, jus' like Chylene an' Hans said. A fancy-pants stiff like them woulda kicked me out after I cracked em with that towel."

"I gave consideration to it," Rarity said, though the faintest ghost of humor crept into her words. "After all, it is very uncouth to engage in such an unladylike act."

"Good thing I ain't no lady. I'mma country gal."

Before Rarity could express a form of disdain at the farmer, the two heard a four one chime from the front door. In walked a young man wearing a crisp black suit.

"Hello, madams," he said in a cultured English voice. "Might I ask which one of you is Ms. Belle? I am in dire need of a new suit for the soiree we shall be having on Friday."

Jack gave a wave to the violet haired woman. "Ya got customers, so I'mma mosey." She gave a tap to the box she had set on the table. "I brought ya these when ya get time ta eat."

Rarity spared a quick glance over. "Thank you. I'm sure I'll like it."

The farmer went outside and paused as she got about halfway down the small pathway leading from Rarity's shop.

"What the hell does 'soiree' mean?" Jack asked herself, taking off her hat and scratching at her head.

000

**AN: Thank you whoever's read this far. I'm a bit disappointed at the lack of interest this fic has garnered so far, but I'll keep pressing on regardless.**


	4. Stitch by stitch

Hans was gone by the time Jack returned to the main road. It was just as well, it seemed like the town had flooded with new and youthful faces pouring from the train station.

_Must be people comin' in at the last minute,_ Jack thought.

She stopped moving briefly, watching the parade of people from the sidelines of the road.

Above her, a flock of sky folk traveled in a V formation, all of them holding backpacks, suitcases, and other traveling supplies.

"Wonder if they ever drop the crap they're carryin'?" AJ pondered.

Her question was answered when a book fell from the heavens. Jack's reflexes gave her just enough time to hop to the side as the object crashed into the ground.

"My bad!" a blond haired woman called out, diving and grabbing the book before taking to the sky once more.

"Amateurs," a scratchy woman's voice said from AJ's side. The farmer spared a quick glance over, and noticed Dash, leaning easily against a brick wall and watching the sky folk up above. She unwrapped a cheeseburger, taking a large bite from it.

"Where ya come from, Dashie?" Jack asked, astounded on how the athlete had snuck up on her.

"I was on the rooftop eatin' breakfast. Saw you walking down this alley, and thought I'd pop in." Dash muttered through her full mouth.

"Breakfast? It's almost twelve," Jack stated.

"Then it's _lunch_. You're killin' me, hayseed."

The farmer grumbled under her breath, tilting her hat forward as she stared at the athlete.

"How about you, cowpoke? What are you doing in town?"

"Not much. Jus' had ta make peace with Rarity."

"You made her mad?" Isabelle questioned, taking another hearty bite from her rapidly diminishing burger.

"Eyup."

The athlete polished off her meal and crumpled up the wrapper. She tossed it to the ground and stretched her lanky arms over her head. Jack scoffed, bending down and grabbing the trash then moving over and tossing it into a nearby bin.

"Goodie two shoes," Dash grunted, cleaning out her ear with a pinkie.

"Some of us ain't lazy an' know how ta take care of ourselves," Jack countered.

"Whatev," Dash easily replied, wiping her hand off on her tracksuit. "I'm getting ready to go back to the school—want a ride?"

"Ya got a cart comin' fer ya?"

"Something like that," Dash evasively answered, moving closer to the farmer. Jack soon felt hands wrap around her waist with all the gentleness of a man preforming the Heimlich maneuver. The blonde glanced behind and her expression quickly turned to one of alarm.

Dash had her ethereal wings opened out and an exceptionally wide grin plastered on her face. "Hold onto your hat," the athlete suggested.

Isabelle blasted upwards, holding the farmer tightly in her arms. Jack screamed in equal parts euphoria and overwhelming terror, drawing the glances of several sky folk going casually about their way. Dash lifted the girl far above the throng of fliers—soon they found themselves alone.

Once they leveled out and Jack had yelled herself nearly raw, Isabelle spoke up.

"Open your eyes."

Jack reluctantly did and took a sharp breath in surprise.

Through the clouds that were close enough for the farmer to skim her hand over, she saw glimpses and peaks at the countryside below them. The grass looked akin to a green, swirling sea, and the nearby river and dirt road crowded with people were but runaway colors on a canvas. In the distance, far past the school, Jack could see a set of craggy mountains, their white-capped teeth jutting proudly towards the sky.

For AJ, it was one of the most beautiful things she had ever witnessed. For Isabelle, it was just another Tuesday.

"Wow..." the farmer eloquently muttered. Dash said nothing, a slightly harder embrace the only reply to Jack's words.

After a moment of soaring easily through the winds, the sky child broke the mesmerizing silence.

"So, uh, we're at the last quarter. Can we walk the rest of the way?" Isabelle adjusted her grip slightly. "You're heavier than you look."

Jack looked up towards the sky child with a slight glance over her shoulder. "I'd smack ya fer that, but I don't wanna fall."

The landing took them off the road's path—despite Dash's devil-may-care attitude, she didn't want to risk a chance at hitting anyone. She came down with the grace of a bird, placing Jack softly on the ground and fluidly dispelling her wings. The blond haired girl glanced at Dash and debated kissing the ground—it felt fantastic to be back on her feet again.

"So, bro... we're about five miles or so from the school..." Isabelle trailed off, arching her fingers together and cracking her knuckles. "And I still owe you from yesterday. How about a little rematch? First to the school fountain."

"No wings," Jack replied, taking off her plaid overshirt and tying it around her waist. She fanned the neck of her gray tank top, silently wishing for a glass of water to cool her down.

"Lame." The athlete zipped up her baby blue track suit and stretched at her legs, limbering up. "But fine, have it your way."

They booth stood side-by-side, Jack leaned forward slightly, and Isabelle was nearly flat on the ground, she was stooped so low—her hands were grasping the dirt tightly, a leg was fully extended behind her, and her other was bent low near her stomach.

"Count it, Jack."

"Yer mark."

Dash dug her heels in deeper, grinning arrogantly.

"Get set." The southerner bounced on her feet slightly, psyching herself up. She took a breath then shouted.

"Go!"

The two took off in an all-out sprint—the grass blurred at the sides of their vision, and the dirt road swarming with people grew closer and closer. As they sprinted, neck and neck, Dash took off slightly to the left in order to skirt the side of the road. Jack wasn't able to turn her body in time and nearly plowed into a man hauling a large traveling case behind him. With no hesitation, Jack focused her legs and propelled her body up and over the case, clearing it by a good two feet. She landed back onto the ground with a grunt and used her height to scan through the sea of people.

AJ watched Dash almost casually snake through the throng of students, dodging and weaving through the crowd with a dancer's grace. The farmer tried to do the same, deftly bending and twisting her upper body as she dodged past dozens of people in the blink of an eye. But for all her attempts, Jack just wasn't as fast at clearing through the group as Isabelle was—the girl had widened the gap already, turning to run backwards as she gave a smug grin AJ's direction. With a quick wave of her hand and a loud laugh, she flipped around, focusing her attention back to running. With an even deeper concentration, she ran her legs like mechanized pistons, pumping them fast and high. Jack lost more and more ground, until that girl was nothing but a rainbow colored speck in the distance.

000

It was a good forty-five minutes later when Jack dragged her way to the fountain at the front of the school. Dash was laying down on top of the fountain's base, nearly asleep. On seeing the farmer through her nearly closed eyes, she gave a small wave.

"Geez bro, what kept you?" The athlete yawned, adjusting her unzipped tracksuit. "I've been waiting here almost twenty minutes."

Jack gazed at Isabelle, slack-jawed. "T-twenty minutes? There's no damn way..."

"Ok. Seventeen and a half. Pretty close though." Dash allowed with a shrug, hopping off her improvised bed.

"T-that's ridiculous," Jack said under her breath, taking off her hat and briefly fanning her face with it. "That's 'bout faster than I've ever seen anyone run, if yer bein' truthful."

Isabelle's face grew grim. "No way would I lie about a race time. I've got standards, hayseed." After a beat, she returned to her usual cocky appearance, taking a step past Jack and heading towards the front entrance of the academy. "But you're right. That's probably one of the fastest times you'll ever see—I _am_ pretty awesome, after all."

The two walked for a minute, battling through the crowd standing around at the front. As they traveled past the throng of people, Jack had a question pop into her head.

"Dash?"

The briefest flick of Isabelle's rose colored eyes were the only clue she was intently listening as they battled through the new students.

"What sorta degree ya goin fer? Physical Fitness?"

Dash bounced the word around her head briefly. "Not exactly, hayseed. It, uh, ain't exactly a degree you can get most other places. Battle Expertise."

Jack paused in her walking, staring at the woman as if waiting for the punchline to a joke. "That's a degree?"

"Yep. Cloudsdale has quite a few niche degrees you can't find anywhere else—weirdest one I've seen so far has been ballroom dancing—who _honestly_ does that anymore?" Dash asked, cackling at the thought.

"I've been in more dances than I have fights," Jack mused, rubbing her chin. "But if yer wantin' fightin' experience, why not join the army? They're always lookin', an' the pay's good enough."

"Because I don't like the idea of anyone bossing me around, _duh_." She gave an exasperated look towards the farmer.

"What in the sam hill are ya gonna use a degree like that for then? Start up yer own trainin' school or somethin'?"

"Pfft, as if. Why would I want to spend time teaching snot-nosed kids how to be awesome like me?" She moved in closer to the farmer, reaching up and slinging a hand up to Jack's shoulder as they entered the lobby. "Nah. I'm gonna be a Wonderbolt, bro!"

Jack raised a brow. "Ya make it sound like I'm supposed ta know 'bout them, sugar."

Isabelle retraced her hand and leaned against a wall. "They're only the best stuntmen you've ever seen! They're, like, a fringe military group when Princess Celestia needs 'em for scouting or whatev, but what's totally swag is their stunts."

The farmer made a noncommittal grunt.

"And I'm thinking about getting a minor in Physical Fitness."

_Why not jus' get the Physical Fitness degree if yer lookin' ta join that group fer jus their stuntwork? _Jack pondered, briefly thinking about making her thoughts vocal, but Dash continued the conversation before she could press on.

"What about you, Jackie? What sort of degree you looking at?"

"I dunno," AJ admitted. "Agriculture, I'm thinkin'."

_Though I might have found my minor... _Jack thought, imagining the look on Dash's face when the athlete was one-upped by her at Battle Expertise. That thought brought another one to the forefront of the southerner's mind.

"Tiebreaker tomorrow, uh..." AJ crossed her arms under her breasts and gave quick thought. "Horseshoes."

"Oh it. Is. _On_," Dash quickly agreed, flicking her nose with a thumb. "You're lookin' at a champ here—I've never lost at horseshoes."

"Luck eventually loses ta skill. Jus' be ready fer a slice of humble pie after class," Jack disinterestedly said, looking over her nails.

"We'll see, bro." Dash shrugged. "You can talk the talk, but just you wait." She pushed off of the wall. "I gotta go take care of a few things. Guess I'll catch you later tonight, dude."

"Take it easy," Jack said, giving a small tilt of her head in acknowledgment as the girl left the lobby behind.

AJ decided to grab a book from her room and make use of the lounge—the sunlight coming through the windows seemed like it'd be perfect for reading under. As she walked deeper into the lobby, she heard the receptionist call her name.

"Mmm?" she replied, sparing the twiggy man a glance.

"Ms. Shields is waiting for you in the theater room."

"Ms. Shields?" Jack repeated. "Oh, Twi. Yeah, alright." She nodded. "I'm on my way there." The woman took a few steps forward before pausing. "Where's that at, again, sugar?"

000

The theater was a beautiful room in the northwestern wing of the school. If the lounge and lobby had class, this place was soaked in it. Brass bannisters lined the balconies at the far end of the theater room, and the private boxes overlooking the stage at either side had intricate and precisely designed work done onto the brash finish. Jack wasn't a theater goer often—she preferred stories that didn't involve boring songs in a fancy language every second, thank you very much—but she was surprised by the main floor being completely open without a chair in sight, it's well-glossed wood lay bare to the world, nearly glowing under the polish job someone had done to it. The farmer guessed that maybe the room functioned as a dance hall in addition to its duties in the performing arts.

AJ trend slowly and carefully on the wood; boots were about as subtle as she was, after all, and, if she marked the floor, she doubted all the money in her bank account could compensate for ruining the wood. The blonde considered it a miracle that she made it to the theater stage proper without scuffing something up. She glanced at either side and noted doors alongside the stage. With a shrug, she ignored them, easily hoisting herself up. The farmer casually put a hand at her hip and looked around. It wasn't often she got to see a stage from this end, after all.

The wooden set backdrops were only halfway done, and while they were drawn and painted with an obviously professional eye, a half-done painting would never give the same emotions a finished one would. Above her, on the catwalk running along the stage, she saw a blond, nervous looking man with a compass rose mark on his cheek reaching up and checking over a set of sandbags. Several areas had tools of all shapes and sizes tossed about, from monkey wrenches to hacksaws.

She took all this in and honestly wasn't impressed.

Granted, what would be on a stage? It wasn't like the place was a gateway to another dimension, after all. It just had a certain... mystique that Jack liked.

_No. It's not the mystique you like. It's the everyday magic,_ she thought. _That's the right word for it. That's why you like _some_ plays. They make you feel special. _She accepted that answer, moving behind the stage.

There, she found Twila, flopped down on the wooden floor and using her magic to read three books at once. As she flipped a page with a slight motion of her index finger, she used her free hand to guide an apple into her mouth.

The farmer coughed, drawing Twila's attention away from her studies, albeit briefly.

"Salutations, Jack." The dark skinned woman brightly smiled, standing up and dusting off her conservative dress. "How are you?"

"Ain't bad. A bit ragged 'round the edges at the moment, but I'll be good as new after a shower an' a drink." Jack took a glance past the scholar, eyeballing the books. "What ya readin'?"

AJ knew she'd regret asking the question as soon as she saw Twi's face light up in restrained excitement.

"I'm reading about the Scale theory! It's a fascinating hypothesis penned by Sagan Hawking! His theory is that our world is akin to a balanced scale, and, with the slightest of pushes, we could alter the future as we know it. He suggests that if the magic within Earth fluctuates too much, it could alter the entire evolution of our species!"

Jack could feel a headache forming in the far corners of her mind, but decided to bite. "How so?"

Twila gestured to one of the books. "If the Earth lost its supply of magic, or if the magic had never existed in the first place, Mr. Hawking says humanity would have evolved without any significant powers. They would be akin to an average Earth child in strength, and, if Sagan's theory is correct, they would be masters of technology, inventing everything from functional flying machines to space-faring vehicles."

"Sounds pretty nifty," the farmer admitted.

"I doubt I could function without my magic, so I wouldn't classify it as 'nifty,'" Twila replied, adjusting the glasses she wore. "On the other hand, if the Earth's magic had an approximate increase of fifty percent, the world would be saturated in a substance similar to radiation. It's doubtful humanity would have came to be in a world like that—Sagan suggested that another creature would gain sentience and become the predominate species, with mutations in a certain percentage of the populace akin to our soul and sky folk."

"A new species? Like what, rats?" Jack drawled, smirking slightly. These hypothetical fields of research always amused her. It was usually nothing more than a tall-tale contest.

"No," Twi mused, putting a finger to her bottom lip and looking to the catwalk in thought. "It would most likely be something with a brain of similar design to ours—perhaps a monkey or dolphin." Her smile grew wide, as if she had a secret she wished to share. "Wanna see his mathematical formulas regard-"

"_No!_" Jack shouted in a near panic. The tanned woman blanched. "Uh, I mean, no thank you."

"A-alright..." Twila replied, shutting the books close with a small brush of her magic.

"So, uh, did ya want ta see me fer somethin'?" Jack asked, trying to steer the conversation back to salvageable ground.

"Indeed I did, Jack." She nodded. "I was wondering if you had classes lined out yet, or if you even had an idea on your degree choice."

"Agriculture. Though I want a minor in Battle Expertise."

Twilight took off her glasses, breathing on the lenses. She wiped at them with a handkerchief from her breast pocket, and put them back on. "Usually you assign your minor to complement a weakness with your major. Selecting something like that seems to be a waste." On seeing the farmer's glance, Twila gave a slow shake of her head. "However, judging by your respectable scores in physical education, maybe you would be adequate with a weapon in hand."

"Darn tootin'," Jack agreed, cracking her knuckles.

"Well, I won't stop you. Just be careful."

"Always am."

The scholar gestured to the scenery. "Do you like what you've seen so far?"

Jack glanced over at the scattered supplies on the stage. "Uh, I guess so. Things still bein' built ain't exactly nothin' ta write home 'bout."

"I don't." Twila frowned. "We're _days_ behind schedule—I wanted the scenery painted yesterday, and I haven't even finished all the woodwork for several of the sets we'll need." She turned to face the farmer head on. "Which is why I was hoping to recruit you for a few days. You know your way around a hammer and nails, correct?"

"Well as anyone else, I guess." The farmer adjusted her hat, tilting it back a bit from her brow.

"It would be a fantastic boon if you could spend a few hours after school working on this with me and Rarity—we're hoping to present a fantastic showing for the Princesses when they arrive on Friday."

Jack felt a cold stone in her gut at that. "Ya mean like Luna and Celestia? Those Princesses?"

"Only ones I know of that would travel here," Twila easily said, not noticing AJ's sudden blank stare. "They even meet with the student council after the play, if you wish to engage in conversation with them."

_Man, this school is too fancy fer me, _Jack thought. _I break into a cold sweat jus' meetin' up with our town's mayor. Who knows how bad I'll be 'round two livin' legends._

"Great..." Jack said with false enthusiasm. "Can't wait ta meet them."

Twila moved over to a set of boards. With a quick flick of her finger, a purple aura surrounded a small handsaw and brought it to the scholarly woman. "Now, would you care to help me by cutting these to length?"

The farmer swallowed her dread away for a moment and nodded.

They worked in silent harmony together, Twila giving orders and helping with the less complex jobs and Jack preforming the heavy manual labor. After two hours of the work, both took a moment to sit down on a pile of blankets at the corner of the stage.

"Whew, I've worked up quite a sweat," Twilight said, panting as she leaned against the concrete wall.

"Dunno how, ya been twirlin' those fingers 'round, mostly," Jack easily replied as she leaned back on the blankets, smiling despite her words.

"Magic is far more taxing on the body than you would believe. Every minute of using it would be the equivalent of five minutes hard labor for your kind."

"But ya get yer stuff done in about a fifth of the time it'd take us," Jack countered.

Twila blinked. "I suppose so," she admitted, surprised at the farmer's quick wit.

Jack crossed her hands behind her neck and stared up at the ceiling. "Hey, Twi?"

"Yes?"

AJ turned onto her side, resting a hand on her face and looking at the bookworm. "Rarity told me a bit 'bout the school ya'll go to fer a few years. I was jus' wondering what yer take was on it."

"My... take?" the soul child repeated.

"Yeah. Ya know—if it's a good idea or what have ya." Jack briskly said.

"Of course it's needed. If we had no actual education on our limits and how to suppress our emotions during casting, we could easily lose control of our magic."

"What happens if ya lose control? Rare wasn't too up fer divulging information on that aspect."

Twila let out a small exhale. "It's not pleasant, I will say that." She rose from the blankets and stood at attention. The woman began to speak in the semi-detached and dry tone of a doctor. "When a soul folk goes past the internal boundaries his or her body places on their magical prowess, it results in their heart and brain rejecting the magic that flows inside their pulmonary and temporal artery, respectively, causing numerous defects to rapidly develop along the frontal lobe, in extreme cases, you can see the extent of the damage externally, including such-" she paused at seeing Jack's borderline comatose state.

"Care ta dumb it down jus' a hair fer me, sugar?" The southerner asked. "All of us don't speak like we're teachin' a doctorate program."

"Right," Twi coughed quietly into her hand. "To put the actions into more layman terms: If a soul folk taxes their body with too much magic, it begins to overheat the brain, potentially causing damage. If they channel a large amount of magic at once, well, the effects are magnified." Her reserved demeanor fell slightly, exposing the unnerved woman underneath the scholarly tone. "There was a girl in my class who pushed herself t-too much at once." She stared off to the distance for a moment, taking in a few shuddering breaths while clutching hard at the sleeves of her dress. After a beat, she tried to speak, but it came out in a low, croaking whisper. "Jack... she—there was blood coming from her mouth and eyes. She ha-" Twila stopped herself, putting a hand to her mouth and flinching away from the farmer. "I'm sorry. I... I thought I could talk about it now. I thought I had... had moved on."

Jack shook her head, rising to a sitting position. "Ya ain't got no need ta apologize. It was right foolish of me ta pry fer information, ya know?" She stood and put a gentle hand onto Twila's shoulder as the dark skinned woman sniffed and stared blankly at the ground. "Now, how 'bout I treat ya to an early dinner? We can work on this junk tomorrow," Jack offered.

"Ok," Twi said, slowly coming out of her morose mood.

The two left, neither paying any heed to the blond man still perched up on the catwalk.

000

Rarity leaned forward on the front counter of her shop, smiling weakly as the sunset gave everything in her boutique a golden glow.

It had been a long day after Jack had left; clientele swarmed her establishment, all asking for different things; suit adjustments, perfume suggestions, dress orders for Friday's soiree, even a long, drawn out order over the phone with a lady regarding custom extensions for her hair (and having to vehemently deny that she herself used extensions. The _nerve_ of some people—with the exception of giving it curl on occasion and washing vigorously with a lemon-milk shampoo, Rarity's hair was _au naturale._)

It had been so busy that the violet-haired woman hadn't even taken a lunch break, a fact her stomach was currently announcing to the entire world. She was thankful that the last customer of the day had left mere moments ago. If the man had heard her stomach growling like a feral beast, it would have been the worst possible thing to have ever happened in this store. So it was with a small amount of joy that the well-dressed woman went to her front door and flicked her sign over.

"I'm dreadfully sorry, but we are closed," she said to herself, mimicking her sign's words.

Rarity glided over to the back of her store and sat at the kitchen table, examining the box Jack had brought. She hoped it wasn't anything greasy—grease was a nightmare to clean off of her hands and face, after all.

With a quick breath, she tore off the wrapping and opened the box.

Inside was an entire pan of lemon bars. What really drew her attention, however, was the design on top of the delectable treats. Directly in the center was a rainbow colored heart made of jam. Rarity didn't have to taste the rainbow to know that it was zapapple jam—one of the rarest jams in the country. Doubly so, considering that zapapple season wasn't for at least another month.

This dessert must have cost a fortune. And Jack brought it for her.

The woman smiled coyly, moving from the pan to her kitchen counters. While Rarity was quite used to receiving affections from men and women alike, there was something touching about this gift. Maybe it was due to its straightforward nature, or the fact that the woman in question simultaneously enraged and amused her to no end in the short time they had spent together so far.

Rarity produced a small plate, knife and fork, then sat back down at her kitchen table. She cut off a square (A serving size, mind you. A lady doesn't overeat past what would be considered the social norm) and took a bite, nodding in quiet appreciation at the melody of flavors in her mouth.

Uncivilized ruffian or not, that farmer knew what she liked. Which was something. Not a lot, but something.

000

**AN: Thank you for the feedback since last chapter guys. Knowing a few people are at least enjoying this motivates me to keep it going, haha.**


	5. A knight in plaid armor

The silence of predawn graced the academy as its denizens slumbered inside their dormitories, save for one woman in particular. Rarity splashed water on her face in an attempt to wake up and face the day. She yawned and glanced past the open lavatory door and over at Twila. The scholar was still blissfully asleep, wrapped under three blankets and snoring slightly. Not surprisingly, an opened book peeked out of the sheets—she must have fallen asleep reading.

Again.

_Work is the bane of the sleeping class,_ Rarity suddenly mused. What she would give to be in her own bed right now, wrapped up and in her pajamas. But, alas, she had to prepare the shop to do business at odd hours thanks to school beginning. Granted, her dear friend Spike was adequate for running the business while she attended class, but there were still things that required her presence and input; things that, no matter how much the boy knew, she'd have to take care of.

Rarity glanced over at her digital alarm clock. Five-twenty. She'd best get dressed if she was planning on joining Chylene for breakfast like usual.

With that in mind, she turned to her walk-in closet and began the long and arduous process of selecting something to wear.

000

Jack made it to the dining hall at five minutes to six. Not surprisingly, Dash had threatened to kill the farmer when the alarm went off earlier, but Jack had already been out of her dormitory before the athlete even had the strength to sluggishly raise an arm in protest.

With a quick glance at the nearly empty room, Jack spotted Rarity and Chylene.

"Mornin', ya'll," she announced, moving over and plopping down next to the seamstress. Rarity coyly raised a brow at this, but said nothing.

"G-good morning, Jack," Chylene quietly said, smiling slightly and playing with a loose strand of her pink hair. "Did you sleep well?"

"Dash is a bit of a night owl—her lookin' over some books kept me up fer a bit, but eventually I nodded off. Yerself?"

"Uh, yes." She nodded. "I slept just fine. Angel slept like a baby, too."

"Your bunny woke up every two hours and cried?" Rarity asked, offering a rare quip.

"N-no," Chylene quietly protested.

"I know dear, I just couldn't resist." The classy woman smiled, showcasing her perfectly white teeth.

Jack held back a yawn. "So, what classes ya got today, Chylene?"

"I-I have Radiology study all day."

"Do what now?" AJ replied, squinting at the timid woman. "Like, HAM radios, or...?"

"N-no," she stammered. "Radiology is a new way to see inside animals and people, without having to get a soul folk to help. You use a kind of light to look inside them, and you can see where they're hurt at on their bones or organs."

"Neat." Jack put her elbow onto the table and leaned on her hand.

"Oh yes," the timid girl agreed, smiling warmly. "It's amazing what medicine's evolving into after that trade opened between the norfolk and our country ten years ago."

"Norfolk?" Jack repeated, her expression suggesting the word had a strange, unfamiliar taste to it. Then it dawned on her. "Oh, ya mean the minotaur's?"

Chylene's eyes snapped open in surprise. "_Jack_. That's not very nice."

"What's wrong with it? It's what my grandpa called 'em back when I was a young'in. 'Sides, their boys fit the part, ya know? Hairy, tall-"

"Smelly, boorish, rude, uncouth," Rarity added, wrinkling her nose. She quickly changed her expression when a waiter arrived with two steaming bowls of oatmeal and placed them in front of Rarity and Chylene. Jack decided to go ahead and eat; she asked for an order of eggs over easy and a steak.

"How 'bout you, Rare? What ya got goin' on?" Jack questioned.

"If by 'goin' on,' you mean to ask what sort of classes I have today, well..." The proper woman put a napkin around her neck and blew delicately into the warm oatmeal. "History is my morning's schedule, unfortunately. I find it dreadfully boring."

"Makes two of us."

"W-what about you, Jack?" Chylene asked. "Where you going today?"

The farmer shrugged, reaching into her back pocket and pulling out a note. "Says here fer my class ta meet at the track at nine."

"A class meeting outside?" the well-dressed woman pondered briefly. "Oh. You signed up for that foolish fighting course, did you?" Rarity put a spoonful of oatmeal to her violet colored lips.

Jack shrugged. "Dash got me curious, mostly. Seems like it'd be a fun thing ta do when I ain't havin' ta work on my gen-ed things."

"You _would_ like something so brutish." Rarity scowled. "Do you not realize how much dirt, and grime and, and _dirt_ you'll be around?!"

"Golly, an' here I was thinkin' you'd jus' be scared of me gettin' hurt or somethin'," Jack dryly retorted.

"Well, that can happen in any profession or teaching, darling. Why, gracious, the amount of times I've cut or punctured my hands when I first began tailoring? I still have a few small scars on my fingertips." She splayed her hands and held them under Jack's eyes to demonstrate. The farmer saw a few slight scuffs and smirked.

"Ya think that's bad?" Jack laughed, slightly muting her volume once she saw Rarity's disapproving glare. "Girl, I've wrote the book on scars. Ya _never _wanna see my thighs if what's on yer hand scares ya—I ran inta a barbed wire fence when I was a runt, jus' 'bout cut me ta pieces."

"Sounds like a challenge," Rarity coquettishly replied, a sly smile on her face. Jack looked incredulously at the classy woman.

"Uh..." the farmer trailed off, unsure how to answer the other's words. She nervously scratched at her freckled face while Rarity returned back to her meal with a small shake of her head.

"Take notice, Chylene. _That_ is how you quiet a southerner up."

"I-I'll, um, keep that in mind," the pink haired woman quietly said, eating at her own halfway forgotten oatmeal.

000

Jack found herself helping Chylene once more take care of the stables before class started. It felt good still being able to take care of a few chores in the early morning—it made her homesickness a small painful throb, rather than a seeping wound.

Neither woman spoke much, which was fine with Jack. It was about what working with Macintosh was like on a normal day. As the clock struck eight-thirty, Jack left and headed towards her very first class at the Academy.

Like everything else at the school, the track was pristine; free of litter and immaculately painted to such a precise degree and calibration, it made Jack just a bit sick in her gut. Polished metal stands rose around the field, and an electric scoreboard towered over the entire area, the technology a stark contrast to the heavy woods in the western distance.

_Bet that didn't come cheap,_ the farmer thought.

Towards the center of the track, a throng of students had gathered in a messy cluster, some talking to one another, others casually tossing a baseball, a select few on bulky cellphones. Jack was admittedly curious about the devices; it was a neat idea, being able to call someone anywhere like that. She doubted it'd ever catch on, though.

Jack merged into the crowd, waiting as patiently as she could for the class to start.

"You, huh?" a scratchy woman's voice asked from her side. Jack smirked.

"Hey Dash. Helluva crowd, ain't it?"

"Natch," Isabelle said, stifling a yawn. "Name me any other class that involves learnin' how to fight monsters. Heck, I'd be in for it just for a chance to smack some rich kid's head in, you know?" She scratched at her neck. "I'm impressed you got in, really, signing up so late and all."

AJ looked once more at the group of people. "So, uh, where's the teacher?"

"He's probably running late. Wouldn't be the first time."

Jack used her height to look over the cluster of people. "You've been around him before?"

"Sophomore, bro."

"Oh yeah, forgot," the farmer said.

The sound of drums pounding in synchronization from the west silenced everybody present. Emerging from the woods like the spirit of a nightmare was the outline of a person, who continued to steadily walk towards the scattered group. As the outline got closer, Jack was able to identify it a bit better.

A powerfully built man came walking forward, his shirtless chest gleaming with an oily sheen in the morning sun, showcasing dozens of scars all along his torso. His dark skin contrasted the off-white satchel he wore at his hip—he appeared to be slightly straining under its weight, judging by the slight pause in his steps. From behind him, several more figures emerged from the woods, each playing the drum.

As he marched closer, Jack could see the well trimmed mustache and goatee on his chin, and the coarse, black hair he kept in a messy ponytail at the side of one shoulder. She could also tell the man was clearly norfolk—he towered over everyone in the area, standing far taller than her or even Big Macintosh.

The giant marched until he arrived at the dead center of the track and unceremoniously took of the satchel with one powerful hand. The 'minotaur' eyed the group and dropped the satchel. It slammed into the ground, embedding itself into the earth and creating a small crater at its point of impact. Jack felt a slight tremor from the weight of it landing.

By this time, the drummers had arrived to stand perfectly still by his side, each seemed to be wearing an ornate brown mask to cover their jaws. Dash flinched upon seeing the masks, but offered no explanation why.

The gigantic man looked over the motley crew in front of him then cocked a thumb towards his bare chest. "Kids. Welcome to my world." He began to slowly pace back and forth, crossing his arms behind his back and staring straight ahead as he made his rounds. "It's not a pretty place—it's a dirty, grimy, rough and tough thing, but it's what keeps your squeaky clean world so nice and pleasant. Me and my boys? We're the oil greasing up the gears of society." The scarred man bumped his chest. "My given name is William Kalaallit, though you may know of me by the nickname Celestia gave me: Iron Will."

That drew a few gasps from the crowd; even Jack, with her limited knowledge of history, knew of the minotaur called Iron Will—The Beast who Speaks, as he had been called during the war.

He was a braggart, confidant and sure of himself, but he had every reason to be. Iron Will was one of the key instruments in driving the cult of the Griffon back from the county's borders during her father's youth. William was an unstoppable juggernaut on the battlefield, able to mow through people with the flick of a musclebound wrist, hell, the guy was able to even hold his own against soul-folk in battle, due to a technique he dubbed 'the Iron Mind.'

It was understatement saying Jack was excited to be training under the giant.

"All of you? Your country's fate hinges on your skills in combat." He snapped his finger and thumb together, and one of the mask wearing men brought over a canteen. Iron Will drank deeply from it, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and nodding his thanks. "Now, you might be saying, 'Iron Will, we haven't had a war for thirty years now,' or 'Iron Will, why should we train? We have soldiers to take care of problems!' or even, 'Iron Will, I signed up for the wrong class!'

He pounded a fist onto his pecs and smirked. "Well! Let me answer the first two questions with ease!" The man's face quickly shifted into more neutral ground. "And if you think you _have_ signed up for the wrong class starring me, Iron Will, go see the receptionist—he'll get you enrolled for either my 'Norfolk history and legend' class or my 'Critical analysis of modern and historical philosophy' class I teach on B days. Or, as Iron Will calls it, 'Friedrich Nietzsche is a bigger tool than Ayn Rand could ever hope to be.'" He gave an intense cross of his arms at the front of his torso, bending slightly at the knees and gesturing his index and middle fingers to his side. "_Represent_!" he bellowed.

A few men and women gave surprised gasps, quickly leaving the field and making a run towards the Academy. William returned his attention back to the group.

"Now, for the rest of you... there's a reason you should consider how quickly the Griffon Wars escalated on the eastern borders—the battles began in not months or weeks, but days after the cult declared war on your kind. Who made up the backbone of the defensive line until the soldiers arrived?"

He neither waited for, nor expected an answer.

"That's right," Iron Will said, pointing at the gathered men and women. "It fell to the civilians, and, by my ancestors, they did a good job until Celestia's men—and yours truly—made it to the front lines." He extended his arms at his side, as if inviting the entire throng of students to join him. "And that's why Iron Will wants you to prove yourselves to me. Show me that your generation still has the same ingenuity and grit that made me respect your fathers and your fathers before them." He pointed to the cratered satchel. "Iron Will dropped his bag. Can it be picked up?"

A soul-folk scoffed, taking a step forward. "Easy." He smirked, crossing his arms over his jacket.

"Show me," William commanded.

With a small gesture of his finger, the soul-folk pointed to the bag, surrounding it in red aura. He casually gestured upward and frowned when the stubborn package refused to bulge. He extended his whole hand, putting his palm upwards and strained to bring his hand up, as if hoisting an imaginary weight. The straps of the satchel rapidly flapped in an unseen breeze, but otherwise did not rise.

The man dropped his hand and bent down, panting as if he had just ran a mile.

"Wh—what's in that thing?" he gasped.

"Lead," Iron Will said, looking over the young man. "It might have been hoisted up by a stronger magic than yours, but I doubt it. Lead does a good job filtering spells." He glanced among those in attendance. "How are you going to solve this?"

Dash seemed like she wanted to answer, but just smirked towards the giant.

"When you don't have a plan, better get to running, man!" he called, pointing to the track. AJ held back a laugh—the rhymes reminded her of somebody that lived near the farm. "And don't stop until you think of how to lift that bag up."

The group grumbled, all beginning to jog. All save for Jack and Dash. The rainbow haired woman stretched her legs. Once that was done, she grabbed her torso in her hands and twisted until she heard a satisfying pop.

"What you think about it?" Isabelle asked, smirking. "Do you follow what he's trying to say?"

"What's there ta follow?" AJ questioned, taking off her overshirt and tossing her hat to the side. "Jus' gotta hoist up the bag an' we'll be golden, right?"

"Well, kinda," Dash admitted, jogging in place and itching to start running. "I mean, what he's _actually_ trying to do with it is make it a-"

"I got this," Jack said, walking past the track. The farmer soon found herself standing directly over the bag. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Iron Will watching her intently. She took a breath and spat into her hands. After vigorously rubbing her two palms together, she bent her knees, grabbed the straps and lifted up. The satchel held fast to the ground, Jack stumbled briefly in surprise at the bag's weight, nearly falling flat on her face. With a scowl, she grabbed the straps more securely, and hoisted her arms upward once more, straining hard against the bag.

"You're not moving it like that," Iron Will said, moving closer to the woman.

"I... said... I got this..." Jack spat out, the tendons in her body standing out and strained. Her arms shook, her legs quivered, and her teeth were splayed out in a feral snarl.

William was about ready to move over and physically stop her, when something happened.

AJ let out a loud grunt, and managed to lift the bag up to her knees. She quickly adjusted her grip, and rose the bag to her hips. From there, she gave one last straining push, and put it onto her shoulder. The farmer could barely move under her load, but she took a single small step towards the nearly disbelieving Iron Will.

"S—see? Told ya," Jack panted. She reached up and took off her burden, intending to hand it over to the stunned Norfolk. A sudden bolt of pain erupted through her shoulder as she lifted the satchel in her hands. She swore, instinctively recoiling and reaching for her injury-this caused her grip to slip from the bag. The farmer watched with a shocked dread as the hefty satchel traveled on a collision course with her foot. At the last second, she shut her eyes.

The horrific impact on her foot never happened. After a tense moment, she opened one of her eyes.

Iron Will had closed the small distance between them and now held the bag easily with one hand, just inches away from AJ's boot. He tossed it to the side, and it once again landed with a quaking thud. "Let's have a look at the shoulder," he said.

Jack rolled up her sleeve, hissing as her fingers touched the tender flesh. He examined it carefully, taking a few steps around to observe her from different angles.

"Acromion fracture, I bet," he stated in a matter-of-fact tone. "Let's get you to the nurse." Iron Will glanced over toward the school. "Can you walk?"

"Y—yeah. Just hurts like hell," Jack panted, sweat forming at her brow as her shoulder continued to throb.

000

They arrived at the nurse's office about ten minutes later—Jack got quickly taken care of, though there wasn't much that could be done. Her left shoulder was wrapped tightly with gauze and the nurse gave her a handful of pain pills for later on that Jack didn't intend to take. Iron Will sat in the corner of the room, casually reading a book entitled 'Thus spoke Zarathustra.' Well, as casually as a nine foot tall brick of muscle could sit in a normal chair, anyway.

"Just take it easy and don't use that arm much," the nurse cautioned.

"Don't worry, sir, I'm a lefty anyway," Jack said, sickly smiling. The nurse gave a glance over to Iron Will. "Make sure she doesn't overdo it, chief."

"Gonna try not to," William replied, licking his thumb and folding a corner of the page he was on. "Can you give me and the squirt a moment, Nick?"

The nurse nodded, stepping easily out of the small room.

Iron Will gave a shake of his head, and wearily laughed. "I didn't expect anyone would be able to move that, kid. Fracture on your shoulder from the weight or no, you're a tough customer."

"Then why tell us ta move it?" Jack questioned, rolling the small bottle of painkillers in her hands.

"Because I wanted everyone to pitch in and help move it. It was a group exercise—one to teach unity, until you blew away my expectations." His expression turned wistful. "Though I should have expected as much from the daughter of Johnny Apple."

AJ raised a confused brow. "Ya knew my pa?"

Iron Will bridged his sausage sized fingers and started twiddling his thumbs. "Knew him? He was in one of the platoon's that saved my hide twice during the Griffon Wars. You don't forget someone like that. How's he doing, anyway?"

"He's with God," Jack automatically replied, the years dulling any hurt she used to have talking about it. "Lost his life in a stampede when I was jus' a youngin'."

William shook his head, scowling. "Guy deserved better. He was one of the good ones," he muttered in a far more reserved tone than he had been using.

"You said it."

Iron Will sat for a minute, stewing in thought. He chewed his lower lip, staring off into the imaginary distance. Finally, he stood, offering a hand. Jack took it and rose off the bed. "We won't have class together again until Monday. You'll be excused from any upper body exercises we do, but I expect you to work on positioning and leg strength. We have a deal?"

the blonde tilted her trusty stetson back with a flick of the thumb. "Deal." She turned to leave, eager to salvage what she could of the rest of the day.

"Jack," William called out. She glanced behind her. "Last thing: when we get to weapon training, Iron Will's got a surprise lined up for you. Be prepared, alright?"

She rolled her good shoulder. "Got yerself another deal, coach."

000

With her battle expertise class behind her, Jack decided to go help out at the theater for a bit. She wouldn't be able to handle a ton of grunt work, but the farmer had enough experience handling chores with a broken arm to know her limits. She got to work painting some of the landscape, while Rarity and Twilight worked on the high walkway above the stage.

After about an hour of work, Chylene and Pinkie both showed up to help, and they busied themselves with building set pieces.

Jack stopped briefly, wiping at her brow with her right hand. A quick throb of pain warned her against anything rasher than that motion. "So, what kinda play ya'll puttin' on anyhow?"

"A classic, darling," Rarity called down from the catwalk. "'The Count of Monte Cristo.' It's one of Princess Luna's favorites."

"Book's better," Twilight called to the group, to nobody's surprise.

Meanwhile, Pinkie skipped around the stage, clutching an armload of construction tools. Chylene watched, stammering out quiet warnings and following the enthusiastic woman like an unsure duck following its mommy. They both disappeared behind the curtain leading backstage.

"Geez Twi, you're a _total _egghead," Dash said, stepping boldly across the empty room, her tennis shoes making an obnoxious slapping noise with every step on the wooden flooring. She hopped up from the floor and easily hoisted herself up onto the platform. After wiping her hands on the back of her pants, she gave Jack a concerned look over. "Hayseed, you alright?"

"Ain't nothin' that'll kill me. Jus' a fracture," Jack answered. She ran a hand across her mouth. "So, uh, 'bout that bag..."

"Yeah..." Isabelle trailed off with an unbelieving shake of her head. "Uh, how much can you lift? I've never seen anybody but Iron Will move that bag."

"I ain't got a clue, Dash. I jus' kinda move things as needed on the farm."

"Fine. Don't even guess," Dash pouted, crossing her arms.

Pinkie poked her head out from behind the curtain. "Chylene brought snacks! Come on and eat!"

"Don't have to tell me twice." Dash smirked, lazily walking towards the girl.

Jack watched the athlete head to the back—she cupped a hand to her mouth, intent on calling the other two down from the catwalk.

She never got to say anything.

The farmer heard a noise that filled her with dread. The snapping of a rope. Rarity cried, "Look out!" There was a sound of impact; Jack saw Rarity launched off the side of the catwalk, the soul-folk screaming as she plunged towards the floor.

There wasn't time to think. Wasn't time to speak. There was only time to _act_.

Jack sprinted towards the falling woman, making a mad dash to the far end of the stage. Without any hesitation, the farmer leapt off the platform and caught Rarity in her arms. Jack twisted while in the air, putting Rarity on top of her.

A breath later, the blond slammed into the ground, landing hard on her injury.

"Rare. You ok?!" Jack questioned, the surge of adrenaline stopping her shoulder from screaming in pain.

"The sandbag..." the tailor trailed off, weakly raising a hand above them. Jack spared a glance upward and noted a bag freely swinging nearby the catwalk; sand continued to slowly spit and dribble out of its ruptured side. Nearby, Twila sat mutely on the metal pathway.

"Holy shit," Jack whispered to herself. It must have snapped off from the rest of the bags an arm's length away from the catwalk and swung forward, knocking Rarity off.

"What's going on?!" Dash said, running out from the back. Pinkie and Chylene peeked out from behind the curtain.

"A sandbag broke an' nearly got Rare killed-someone keep an eye on her; I'mma check on Twi," Jack ordered, rising and placing Rarity gently on the ground. The woman seemed hesitant to leave Jack's grip—her hitching breath and trembling lips suggested the gravity of what could have happened was just now sinking in. Jack bent down and grabbed Rarity's hand. She squeezed it tightly, looking at the woman square in the eyes. "Yer alright now. Don't worry," Jack reassured, using her other hand to beckon Chylene over. The silent girl did quickly, crouching down by Rarity's side, and patting the frazzled woman on the back of the hand in an attempt to comfort her.

Jack took off, climbing back onto the stage and moving to a ladder that was built on the concrete wings of the stage. She quickly scaled it and jogged over to Twila, her footsteps clanging on the metal catwalk every step of the way.

The soul-child remained stationary, sitting on the walkway and staring at her own hand laying on the grating with a mute fascination.

"Uh, Twi? Ya alright?"

The scholar didn't answer—didn't even twitch. Jack moved over, putting a hand onto Twila's shoulder.

The girl shrieked at the sudden touch, rising in a blind panic from the ground and clutching tightly at the neck of her dress. Her bewildered eyes came back to reality, and she slowly clutched at her forehead before her legs gave way and she pitched forward like a drunk.

"Twila—stay with me," Jack said, putting her hands out to the girl's side in an attempt to balance her.

"She—she—it was coming for me. Rarity knocked me away-" The dark skinned woman blubbered, tears streaming down her face. "She fell, Jack! She fell an-"

"I caught her. Rare's fine."

Twila stared blankly at AJ, unbelieving. She finally slumped down to her knees in relief.

After a beat, Jack reached forward and patted Twi softly on the back. AJ wasn't the best at comforting people—her brother and father's reserved manners had rubbed off on her a bit, for better or worse—but she tried. She looked over, past the shuddering woman and her eyes were drawn towards the sandbag swinging with the slow, dreadful sway of a hung man—she had long since learned to listen to her nagging suspicions, and by God, that bag was all but _calling_ to her to check it out.

"Can ya make it back down on yer own? I need ta look at somethin'," Jack said. Twila weakly rose, nodding once. She gripped the railing tightly, walking at the pace of a woman far beyond her prime. Once Twila slowly began to descend down the ladder, Jack got to work, leaning over the right side of the railing to look over the bag.

It seemed normal enough. The bag was a good sized cloth pouch designed to hold a large amount of sand—regulation was about fifty pounds, if Jack remembered the last time she had to use 'em on the farm right.

At the top of the bag was a wide, circular hole, where two ropes wrapped around like ivy on a branch. One still supported the bag—it rose up high to the roof and joined a collection of other ropes from different sandbags, all tied around a single horizontal pole.

What drew her attention, however, was the second rope attached to the sandbag. She reached out and tugged on the rope, pulling it up to get a clear view of what made it snap, be it rot, or age.

The cause of the rope break made Jack shake her head in an angry disgust.

The rope had obviously been tampered with—there was no mistaking the clean cut through almost the entire rope, leaving only a hair's breadth to hold against the strain of the bag's weight. Whoever had tampered with this had intended to hurt someone.

And considering that it swung down at the exact time Rarity and Twila were up here, that could only mean one thing...

"Dash!" Jack loudly barked, "Get yer ass up here, _pronto_!"

In a heartbeat, Dash had flown up to the catwalk. She casually flapped her wings as she floated in the air by Jack.

"_What?!_" the sky-child asked urgently, the situation making her as tense as a pulled wire.

"Someone was tryin' ta hurt Rare an' Twi."

"Seriously?" Dash retorted, "Who would wan-"

"Dunno. I think he may be in this room right now—it's the only way he'd be able ta time the damn thing not jus' fallin' on nothin'." Jack made a circle in the air with her finger. "Sweep the place, Dash: every box, every aisle, every part of the ceiling an' floor. I want this guy _found_."

"On it," Isabelle instantly said, summoning her ethereal wings and taking to the air once more.

000

Blueblood quickly focused, bringing forth a camouflage spell from the recesses of his mind. In a mere second, the color of his posh clothing and fair skin morphed, becoming nearly translucent and blending with the high-class theater box he sat in, just as a sky-child streaked by.

The spell would never stand a chance to intense scrutiny, but as fast as the woman shot past his hiding spot, he didn't have a fear of being found.

_This isn't happening,_ his mind repeated once more, still stuck on an endless loop of guilt. He hadn't meant to hurt anyone—the sandbag was supposed to be a close call; a near miss—a scare tactic. The first of many, until _she_ left the school.

He had screwed up big time—Mr. Dorcis didn't tolerate screw-ups.

_This isn't happening,_ he thought desperately, taking a few breaths in a vain attempt to calm himself down.

_Dorcis... when Dorcis heard of this..._

For a brief moment, Blueblood considered turning himself over to the bird girl and mud woman. He could go quietly, get arrested, and spend several years behind bars, away from Mr. Dorcis and what he could do to punish a failure.

_Except he's got to have men inside. People more than willing to gut you if he ordered it,_ the panicked part of his brain warned. He agreed to the cold logic. His only hope was to ask the man for a second shot. It was the only course of action that wouldn't involve his potential death or horrific maiming. He nodded to himself. Took a breath. Nodded again.

Blueblood would ask for his second chance tomorrow, when Dorcis arrived at the school.

000

**AN: A big shout-out to JustAnotherFangirl27 for being willing to review every chapter I've done so far! It's greatly appreciated, as are every single review I get on this. Thanks a ton for taking a chance and reading this far bros. Hopefully I'll get the next one out a bit quicker!**


	6. Admiration

Jack took a deep breath, trying to calm down her frantic heart rate. She glanced over the railing once more. Twila and Rarity both sat mutely on the ground, with Pinkie and Chylene quietly trying to console them.

The blonde somberly shook her head, resting her hands on the railing. She saw Dash quickly approaching and tried her best to get her head back into the game. "Find anythin'?"

Isabelle landed gracefully onto the metal catwalk, then seemed to find interest in her jacket's zipper. She played with it as she spoke to the farmer. "I've been by every box and seat here, bro. If there was anyone around, he's gotta be gone by now."

"_Dammit!_" the farmer hotly swore, stomping her foot and slamming her palm onto the guardrail. She rubbed her face, trying desperately to think of another plan. She decided on the practical one. "Alright. Let's jus' get in touch with the principle, I guess. We tell 'em wha-"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Dash interrupted, swiftly crossing her arms. "We can't just tell _anyone_ about this! That'll cause more problems than it would solve."

Jack scowled, narrowing her eyes. "Fer God's sake, look at her!" she exclaimed, pointing down at Rarity's limp form. "What else are we supposed ta do?! Ya tellin' me we shouldn't bring this up ta someone?!"

"Yeah," Dash briskly nodded, taking a step closer and tilting her head up to meet Jack's gaze. "That's exactly what I'm saying."

Jack clenched her fists tightly at her side. "Listen-"

"No, _you_ listen, hayseed," Isabelle quickly shot back, pointing a finger at Jack's face. "It's obvious that whoever sabotaged that sandbag was trying to get either Rarity or Twila to make a scene, maybe. If word gets out that this happened, we're playing into his damn hands! He's got an angle on this, I'm sure of it," Dash steadfastly argued.

"Why them, Dash?" Jack asked, taking another deep breath.

"Influence."

The farmer squinted at the lithe woman. "Influence?" she repeated.

Isabelle leaned back against the railing, flicking her rose colored eyes towards her injured friends. "Look," she started, speaking as calmly as she could. "Let's get them back to their room, then I promise you I'll talk about it, ok?"

"F-fine," Jack reluctantly agreed, deciding to trust the athlete's words.

000

Chylene offered to stay the night with Rarity and Twila. Jack thought that was sweet of her, and the farmer was pleased as punch when the girls accepted the offer. Pinkie returned to the bakery, after a constant reassurance that they'd be fine without her. An hour later, Jack found herself back at her dorm, lazily thumbing through a mathematics book for one of her classes tomorrow.

The woman didn't understand how she seemed to routinely get to places faster than Isabelle—that woman had proved she was kind of a big deal when it came to speed.

Granted, Dash also proved she was like a slug when she wasn't out and about, so it kind of balanced itself out.

Sort of.

Either way, Jack was more than relieved to shut her book when Dash came barreling through the door clutching a small notebook in one hand and the other placed in her jacket pocket.

"What kept ya?" the farmer drawled.

"Had to take care of a few things," Dash evasively answered, taking out a coil of cut rope and putting it on her bed's footrest. She unzipped her jacket, tossing it to the side, then crashed, her arms splayed out on top of her mattress and her feet sinking to the floor. She let out a contented groan.

"I think ya still owe me a talk, Dash. Yer not goin' ta sleep yet."

The athlete rolled her eyes. "I know, bro. Just felt nice getting off my feet."

_You can_ fly! Jack's mind screamed loudly. She crossed her arms, waiting for Isabelle to begin to speak.

"Alright. So, we'll do a bit of note swapping—make sure we're on the same page first. Ready, bro?"

"I'm game." Jack nodded. "Guess we'll start off with the elephant in the room: why them? I know ya said influence earlier, but what do ya mean by that?"

Dash opened up the small notebook and glanced over to Jack. "Rarity's the daughter of a diplomat that's been dealing with one of the most volatile and technologically advanced countries in the world. Twi's the protege of a living legend and a potential contender for the crown, once Luna and Celestia's reign ends. If they aren't girls with influence, I don't know who is."

"So ya reckon that'd be why someone was tryin' ta off one of 'em?" Jack asked, a pit forming in her stomach.

Isabelle shook her head. "See? Like I said earlier: I don't think our perp was trying to kill either of them." She rose off the bed and began pacing across the room. "Think about it, bro: it'd be a lot easier to take either one of them out with a poisoned drink, o-or something along those lines." Dash rubbed at her temple, thinking far harder than Jack would have expected from the athlete. "A sandbag has too many potential ways it could fail. No, I think he was trying to scare one of them and cause an incident with the academy—I bet my life on it." Dash tapped the small notebook in her hands. "Now, what do we know about the assailant?" She glanced over to Jack for an answer.

"Uh..." the farmer trailed off, blinking.

"Come on. Lay it on me, bro," Dash encouraged. "There's gotta be more than just empty space in your noggin."

The farmer shot a glare towards Isabelle, who earnestly smirked. "Well," Jack started. "I'm gonna guess the guy was soul-folk. It's how he timed splittin' the last bit of rope holdin' that sandbag up."

"And?"

"An'... an' he must have some vendetta against one of 'em. O-or their family."

"So an upper-crust type soul-folk? Doesn't help narrow the playing field, especially in this school," Isabelle said plainly.

"One that knew Twila was involved with the play," Jack realized.

Dash stopped pacing. She put a hand to her chin in thought. "Mmm, maybe, hayseed. It's a bit of a stretch, but for now we can assume the guy either pays attention to plays, or he was a part of this one in some way. I guess we can check everyone that's been involved in the play, but man, that's a lot of legwork."

"We could get a teacher ta give us a hand."

Dash vehemently shook her head. "No teachers. I can count the amount of them I trust on one finger, and Iron Will isn't going to be around until Monday."

"Ya really think it's one of the teachers?"

"They're all soul-folk from upper class families—it's a damn good possibility."

"Who _do_ ya trust with this, Dashie?"

"Let me put it this way, hayseed: I've known you what, three days? Yet here I am telling you this."

Jack nodded, honored by Isabelle's faith in her. "So, what do we do?" she asked. While Jack was proud of her ability to think on her feet, actual plans she preferred to leave to different heads than hers, and the athlete seemed to have a surprisingly good gasp on the situation.

Isabelle smirked. "Guess that's all that really matters, huh?" She moved to the chest of drawers, pulling out some underwear. "I'm getting ready for bed while we do this—I'm beat." She went into the bathroom to change. "Anyway," Dash continued, the bathroom door muffling her words slightly. "We need to keep an eye on the girls, make sure nobody messes with them. I'm going to count on you to take care of that."

"And what will you be doin'?" Jack asked, feeling quite stupid talking to an empty room.

"See that coil of rope on the bed? When Twi's feeling up to it, I'm going to see if she can trace it."

Jack glanced over at the woman's bed. "Trace it?"

"Yeah. We'll be able to identify what color of aura the perp used to snap the rope—that'll give us something a bit more solid to work with."

"An' that, uh, helps us?" Jack slowly questioned, mouthing the word 'Perp.' It seemed to be an odd word choice coming from a gal like Isabelle.

Dash opened the door, lazily plodding into the room. "It lowers our suspect pool. After the school soul-folk go to, they have to register what color their magical aura is. If the guy didn't take a masking agent beforehand, well... every little bit helps." The athlete landed on the top of her bed and shut her eyes. "Care to flick the switch for me, bro? Thanks."

"Sure, 'bro,'" Jack scoffed, moving to the light switch and flicking it off. She changed into her own sleepwear and laid down. After a moment, she decided to speak. "Hey Dash?"

"Mmm?" came the sleepy reply.

"How ya know 'bout this stuff? Like, the aura things an' all that?"

"I'm a Ritter, bro. Got a lotta family that have worked as detectives an..." she trailed off, sleep clearly overtaking her words at this point.

Jack sighed in exasperation at her friend and futilely tried to get some sleep of her own.

000

Rarity woke up early, far earlier than what was proper for a lady of her stature. She glanced to the nightstand by her bed. The digital clock rendered a mute judgment upon the woman.

Four A.M.

Honestly, after what happened yesterday, she was surprised she had nodded off at all. It took Twila and Chylene a sleeping pill in order to even begin to calm down enough to sleep.

The high-class woman sat up, turning her head to the left and staring out into the dark night. Or morning, depending on your perspective.

_You almost died,_ a small, terse voice in her head said.

_ But _she_ rescued me,_ another spoke up.

Rarity quietly took a deep breath, hugging her knees close to her chest as she continued to take in the window's view.

She owed the woman something special, that was for certain. It wasn't often someone that saved your life was interested in you. It was flattering, that was for certain, and Jack might make an interesting foil to her own elegant style that was both contemporary and daring. It was just a shame that Rarity couldn't call Jack handsome.

Could she?

She pondered on this briefly, putting a delicate finger to her full lips. She certainly wouldn't call Jack beautiful _or_ handsome—she wasn't proportioned right, she was too tall, and far too crude to be treated like a lady. But... she had a certain... _je ne sais quoi _about her that Rarity was developing an interest in.

Rarity rose from her bed, intending to take a shower. After all that had happened yesterday, she felt like talking to someone, someone that wouldn't skirt around the issue quite as much as Chylene and Twila. They were good friends, both of them, but sometimes a blunt, honest answer was the best.

000

Jack awoke to a gentle rapping on her door. The farmer glanced at her clock. Four-Thirty.

"This better be important," she groaned, rising from the bed and wincing as she automatically put pressure on her right shoulder. She heard Isabelle, still snoring and still dead to the world. It was times like these Jack wished she was a heavier sleeper.

She moved to the door and threw it open. Rarity stood in the hallway looking as radiant as ever, despite the ungodly hour.

The beauty looked over the farmer, the coy half-smile she had slowly vaporizing as she regarded Jack's bra and men's boxers. "You hardly seem dressed proper for answering guests."

"Wasn't expectin' any till a more reasonable time," Jack said, leaning against the doorframe. "Somethin' I can do fer ya?"

Rarity shuffled on her feet, not quite sure how to start. She decided on the direct approach. "I never thanked you for saving my life yesterday."

The farmer shrugged. "Didn't do it fer thanks, Rare. Jus' saw you were in trouble."

"Regardless, I want to do something for you, darling," the woman replied. She gave a slow glance up and down Jack's body. "Turn around for me."

"Do what now?" The farmer blinked

Rarity made a small circling motion with her finger, playfully commanding Jack with a raise of her violet eyebrow. Jack rolled her eyes and did as instructed.

"Hmm. I see. I believe this could work."

"_What_ could work, Rare?" the farmer asked, exasperation in her voice.

"I'm going to make you some clothing for the play. Would you prefer a suit or dress?"

"When did I say I was goin' ta that?" Jack was getting tired of asking questions.

Rarity smiled. "I have two tickets to a box seat for tonight's performance. It would be a shame to have to waste one, and, well..." Her expression faded briefly as she thought back to yesterday. "I sincerely _do_ owe you, Jack. It would please me to no great end if you accompany me to the showing. So, I'll ask again: dress, or suit?"

The farmer put a hand to her temple, sighing. She was going to decline the offer—plays really weren't her scene, after all-but she had a thought. Dash mentioned keeping an eye on the girls, what better way than to be stuck with one all evening? With Rarity taken care off, all she had to do was keep Pinkie and Chylene around Twila and they'd be set.

"Ain't never been one fer dresses," Jack finally answered. "I guess I'll take a suit."

"Fabulous, darling!" Rarity said. "I have just the thing—it's a cancellation from a male client I have in Manhattan. Italian style; all I need to do is resize the chest, tighten the hips and add a slight extension to the legs. You'll look ravishing, I guarantee it!" she said, giving a small flourish with her hand. "I'll ask you to arrive at my establishment at five to pick up your suit. In addition, we'll need to gloss over a few of your flaws."

"What do ya mean, 'flaws?' I'm jus' fine as-is," Jack snapped, staring down at the classy woman.

"You have a certain rustic charm, I will agree. However, with just a bit of makeup and eyeliner, we could-"

"No deal," the farmer replied. "I ain't some sorta doll ya can jus' do as ya please with. We ain't touchin' any of that fancy makeup ta my face."

"Stubborn as a mule," Rarity said under her breath. "Fine," she conceded.

"Now... was there anythin' else? I'm still tired as hell an' my shoulder's killin' me." Jack stifled a yawn.

Rarity swallowed. "T-there is one more thing. Regarding yesterday: do you suppose there was a... more sinister thing at play than just chance? I mean, after the fall, I honestly cannot remember much, and, after speaking with Twila, she's the same way. However, I do recall you spending time with Isabelle on the catwalk after the fact. Was the sandbag... sabotaged in some way?"

The two glanced at one another; Jack wore a mask of borderline indifference. Rarity had worry forming lines across her perfect face. Before the air became thick with tension, the farmer nodded.

"It was," she said.

"Oh," the classy woman quietly replied, her blue eyes flicking nervously down the brightly lit hallway. "D-do you suppose whoever it was that did it... do you suppose he'll try again?"

Jack felt torn between comforting the clearly uneased woman with a lie, or telling the truth. Neither one seemed all that appealing at the moment.

"I can't lie ta ya sugar: I jus' don't know. But I'll say this: ya got good friends around ta watch yer back, myself included. If I can at all, Rare, I'm gonna make sure nobody hurts ya."

"Alright," Rarity quietly said. "I wanted the truth of the matter. For that, I thank you."

Jack offered a tired smile, casually putting a hand to her hip. "Ain't no problem, I-"

"I'm sorry for cutting this conversation short," Rarity interrupted, glancing down at a gold pocketwatch she had been carrying in a side pocket. "But I absolutely _must_ leave for St. Charles now if I want to make it to my shop and prepare for the show tonight. Try to arrive at the boutique by five. We'll skip the makeup like you requested—but we _are_ doing your hair. I refuse to walk arm-in-arm through the school with someone who looks like she has a fear of combs." Rarity quickly started to briskly walk down the hallway, giving a quick wave behind her. "I'll see you on towards the evening, darling!"

Jack stared after the woman, dumbfounded. After a beat, she spoke to herself. "Arm-in-arm? What she think this is, some kinda date?"

"I don't care what it's supposed to be, just shut the _damn_ door," Dash sourly snapped, her agony muffled by the pillow she threw over her head to try and block the hallway's light.

000

Morning came and went for the farmer; she was surprised how... normal everything seemed after yesterday's excitement. She went to her mathematics class like nothing had happened and suffered through it with only the vaguest notion of what the teacher was talking about. She was thankful when lunchtime rolled around, not so much so she could eat, due to a hearty breakfast of eight pancakes and smoked ham, but just so she could escape that awful class and move onto English; at least that was something she was fluent in.

The farmer took her lunch time to travel to the front of the school and rest under a tree, crossing her arms behind her head and sitting her hat low enough on her brow that the rim gave her eyes a hefty amount of shade.

She was seconds away from nodding off when an ear splitting voice called out directly into her ear.

"Hiya Jack!" Pinkie shouted.

"_Bwah!_" the farmer unintelligibly cried with a yelp, jerking awake. She took a deep breath when she saw who had awoken her and put a hand to her furiously beating heart. "Shootfire, Pinkie! Ya scared the livin' daylights outta me."

"Sorry! I just looked over and I thought to myself 'Hmm, Jack seems like she's in deep thought,' so I thought I'd come over and ask you what you were thinking about, because I've always heard that misery loves company, right? So why not deep thoughts, too? We could be, like, dou-"

Jack quickly shook her head, interrupting the bubbly girl in the middle of her tangent. "Wasn't thinkin', I was jus' nappin'. After yesterday an' this mornin', I'm plumb tuckered out."

Pinkie seemed to lose a bit of her exuberance at the farmer mentioning yesterday. She plopped down, sitting her rump ungracefully on the grass. "What happened this morning?" she asked.

"Wasn't nothin' bad," Jack reassured, then paused. "A-at least I don't _think_ it was." The farmer put her hands in her pockets. "We'll... I dunno now. Uh, Pinkie, can ya keep a secret?"

"_Can I_?! I wrote the book on keeping secrets!" The pink-haired girl said with a smile, putting a thumb to her chest and nodding.

The farmer blinked at Diane's proclamation. "W-well then... alright, I'll trust ya." She took a breath. "Ya know Rarity?" She paused, rolling her eyes. "'Course ya do, heck, you've been here longer than I have." Jack muttered under her breath, then tried to continue, "I think she jus' asked me out on a date."

Pinkie's smile widened even farther. "Oh! That's great, Jack! I'm sure you two will have oodles of fun!"

"Will I?" Jack asked herself. "I-I mean, I ain't never really been the, uh, datin' type, ya know?"

Diane cocked her head to the side. "Are you saying you've never been on a date before?"

"Uh, well..." the farmer trailed off. She had a few admirers of her looks back at the farm (or, to be more accurate, at the bar near the farm), but none of them had really offered anything more than obvious pick-up lines that were spoken half in jest.

That was the downside of living by such an incredibly small town—she had history with everyone that lived there. Even now most saw Jack as she was when she was a kid: a tough little girl that could fight, spit, smoke, and cuss as well as any of the boys.

The 'just one of the guys' mantra really didn't do wonders for her in the world of dating. Not that she had the time to go out on dates growing up anyway, what with co-owning a large farm, raising her younger sister, and taking care of her ailing grandma.

"No," the farmer finally admitted. "I ain't never really been on a 'official' date before."

"Wow, this is going to be fun!" Pinkie chirped, excitement oozing from her pores as she clapped her hands.

"Yeah, _fun_," she dryly replied, rolling her eyes. "I'm sure it'll be fun sittin' through a play with a gal that I wanna strangle on occasion."

Diane gave a shake of her head. "You're such a silly goose! You only go on dates with people you like, Jack! You really _are_ new at this!"

Jack held her tongue. Barely.

The pink-haired girl raised a hand to her mouth and leaned forward. "Does Auntie Pinkie need to give you some date advice?" she whispered.

"No," Jack quickly said, trying to sound as polite as possible. "No. Please _no_."

"Aw," Diane said, frowning in defeat. "But I had so many good tips, like 'spare the rod and spoil the girl!'" She paused, "Actually, I'm not sure about that one. Maybe it's 'a fool and his money are soon parted.' No. I think that's advice for bankers." Pinkie looked up towards the sky, her tongue peaking out of the corner of her mouth as she thought. "Hmm. This advice business is hard." Finally, she clapped her hands, rising with incredible speed. "I guess I'll just say: Be yourself!"

"I ain't never gonna be nobody else, girl."

000

The clock struck five just as Jack raised a hand to knock at Rarity's boutique door. It looked like the store had closed early—the sign was turned over and the lights in the businesses lobby were dimmed.

Jack still couldn't believe she was doing this. It was one thing to agree to go on a date with a gal like Rarity, but this was going to be _so_ dull. She could feel her body sink just at the thought of having to wade through a bunch of people on stage singing about their thoughts and feelings, then Rarity would gush about their thoughts and feelings to Jack, then she'd have to nod and pretend she was listening and interested in their thoughts and feelings.

The farmer could feel a faint headache coming on.

Just as she prepared to knock at the door again, Jack saw Rarity through the door's window, briskly walking to let her in. She opened the door and gestured inside. Jack took the moment to look over her date.

Rarity was already wearing makeup and in her evening attire. She wore the quintessential red dress. Strapless, short, and hugged her curvacious body tighter than a cup holding a stiff drink At her neckline was a pendent housing three diamonds that complemented the mark on her cheek. This was finished off by a pair of stilettos that rose her a good three inches from her normal height, putting the top of her head at Jack's jawline.

The classy woman gave a casual toss of her violet, curled hair and flashed a confident smile. "How do I look, darling?" she cooed, fluttering her long eyelashes.

"Ya look pretty." Jack nodded, noting with surprise as Rarity frowned slightly.

"Not 'ravishing,' or 'daring,' or...?" she hinted.

The farmer scratched at her neck, unsure of what to say to appease Rarity. "Uh... ya look _really_ pretty?" she offered.

Rarity rolled her eyes. "Close enough," she said under her breath, before adopting a cheery smile, clasping her hands together. "Well, I suppose we should finish getting you ready for the soiree, should we not?"

Jack shrugged. "I reckon we pop on my duds an' mosey on out there. Shouldn't take too long."

The tailor briskly shook her head, offering a shaky laugh. "Dear, you are in desperate need of at least some foundation on your face, we can lighten your tan slightly and..." She paused, putting a thumb to her chin in thought. "And I suppose I can lend you an earring or two—would you like drop earrings? I think you would look _fabulous_ with a pair of silver drop earrings—then we can add just a bit of eyeliner to draw attention to your face, then-"

"Nope," Jack dismissed with a wave of her hand. "We're gettin' me suited up. That's it. That's all we agreed to."

"But-"

"Deal's a deal," Jack said with finality, crossing her arms. "An' I sure as sugar didn't agree ta havin' globs of makeup slathered on me."

"You stubborn mule," Rarity hissed, turning her nose up and mirroring Jack, crossing her own arms and looking away from the farmer.

"Better a mule than an ass," Jack retorted.

Rarity paused, briefly forgetting their spat. "Those are the same thing."

The farmer shook her head. "Asses can be bred ta make mules, sugar. There's a difference."

Rarity gave a surprised tilt of her head, blinking at the sudden revelation. "Oh. Well... I'll admit defeat regarding that, then," she easily answered. "Now, returning to our earlier conversation: I believe we were at the point where we agree to compromise—I at least get you a pair of shoes, fix your hair, and nothing else. "

"Compromise is when I get somethin' outta it. Right now you jus' get yer way."

"I won't say a word about your fashion choices or uncivilized banter for a whole month."

"Deal," Jack said so quickly Rarity almost felt insulted.

Rarity got to work quickly after that, taking Jack to the back of the store and down a small hallway with doors on either side that the farmer assumed were for changing clothes. At the end of the hallway was a spiral staircase heading upstairs. They climbed it and came to a well designed lounge, with two comfortable looking couches and a chic coffee table in the center. Framed photographs lined the top of the bookshelf to Jack's left and sleek oil paintings covered most of the white walls. In the far right corner of the lounge was a piano that must have cost a fortune. It sat next to a glass door that led out to a small patio.

Rarity gave a small gesture to the couch. "I insist, make yourself at home. I will be but a moment." She walked off, moving past two doors and entering one at the far end of the room.

Jack moved into the room, giving a small press at the backrest of the couch nearest her. It nearly absorbed her hand, swallowing it inside the folds of stuffing and black leather.

The farmer decided to take a look at the photographs.

They seemed to be mostly images of a young girl with two-toned fluffy hair that reminded Jack of cotton candy. In each, the child seemed to be having the time of her life, first one at a beach, then one taken a few years later near the Eiffel Tower, lastly, one with the girl caked in mud and wrestling a hog near an off-white fence that had obviously seen a few years of work.

_Guessin' Rarity wasn't a happy camper with that last one, _Jack figured. She placed this one back and saw one more that caught her eye, resting like a gem among stones.

It was a family portrait, taken near a cherry tree in spring. Rarity stood at the forefront, a young teenager crossing her arms and, judging by her exasperated frown, in the middle of rolling her eyes. Next to her in the foreground was the same girl that was the focus of the other photos—in this shot, she was a young child of about five or six.

Behind them in the background were two others. A nondescript woman who might have been quite the looker in her younger years, and a middle age man with a thick brown mustache. The straw hat he wore clashed so violently with the black business suit strapped to his bulky frame that even Jack's own inadequate fashion sense was screaming alarms.

The southerner couldn't help it. She chuckled, shaking her head in bemusement.

"I see you've stumbled upon my family's dark secret. My own father can't accessorize." Rarity dramatically said, stepping back into the lounge with a well-pressed and crisp suit dangling from her forearm. "It's a dreadful fact," she bemoaned, putting the back of her free hand to her forehead and pretending to swoon.

"Judgin' by the picture, ya felt the same way then too."

"Absolutely," she agreed. "Why, if Sammy wasn't around, I'm quite sure I would have boxed his ears. It's bad enough knowing he wears that tattered thing during business—it's worse knowing that it made it onto our last family portrait."

"Sammy?" Jack parroted.

"Yes, my younger sister. She is quite the handful at times, but she's a sweetie under her more... overzealous attempts at helping." Rarity gestured to the piano. "And she is quite musically inclined, if I say so myself. She picked up a rough grasp of piano mere moments after being introduced to it. I have a suspicion that's what she'll earn her mark in."

"Ain't that somethin'," Jack said, pleasantly surprised. "Got myself a sister 'bout her age—she's still lookin' fer her mark too. I bet they'd be like pea's in a pod."

Rarity lit up. "Well, we may be more alike than I imagined, Ms. Apple."

"Ya know? Ignorin' the dresses an' makeup an' that dumb smell-good stuf-"

"Perfume-"

"_Whatever,_" Jack dismissed with a brisk wave of her hand. "Like I said: take away those things, an', well, yeah. I agree with ya."

Rarity seemed to be reminded of something. "Speaking of perfume..." She approached the farmer, extending her free wrist. "Smell the scent I'm using."

Jack looked cautiously over the woman's wrist—years spent with her brother and his friends made the farmer reluctant to sniff anything offered to her. Bracing herself, she moved her face close and gave a small inhale. It smelled like apples after a hearty rainstorm, with a brief cinnamon finish.

"Yeah, alright. I'll admit: that one ain't so bad."

"I thought you might be keen on it." Rarity smiled, gesturing to one of the doors at the side of the lounge. "Now, go and get changed. I'll wait out here for you."

000

Rarity moved to the front, opening the door and gesturing for Jack to go ahead. The blonde took a step outside, glancing down at her pricy attire and sighing.

It was a nice suit—Jack couldn't argue with that. And for being formal wear, it was fairly comfortable, save for a pressure at her waist. Rarity said it'd help give the farmer the illusion of a more pinched-in waist, but the Apple didn't really see it. Not to mention the weird feeling of having her hair braided and free from the normal, familiar weight of her hat. It hadn't been worn like that since her mom passed on.

Rarity moved to Jack's side and shut the door behind them. With a quick channel of her magic, the tailor locked the store's entrance behind them.

"Well," Rarity said, looking at the last struggling beams of the red and orange sunset as they glazed over her property. "It's shaping to be a lovely evening."

"Red at night, sailor's delight," Jack answered. She took a step forward, stumbling a bit in the dress shoes Rarity had lent out. She was glad they weren't really high heels—Jack never had learned how to walk in those damn things.

'How 'bout we see if we can grab a carriage. My treat," Jack offered, not wanting to risk stumbling any more than she already had. Walking around on an uneven road in these shoes was liable to kill her.

"Oh, you're _so_ considerate! You don't want me to ruin my dress!" the tailor replied, smiling and staring up at Jack's green eyes.

"Uh... yeah... that's _completely_ what I was goin' fer," she awkwardly said, not meeting the other's gaze. If Rarity could could read her obvious bluff, well, she at least didn't call Jack out on it.


	7. Curtain call

Jack and Rarity grabbed a carriage once they made it to the busy main street. Jack was disappointed that Hans wasn't the operator, but the driver was a pleasant enough young man who took Jack's bits with such an exuberant eagerness that would have been almost endearing, if Jack had more money to spend.

Jack decided to ride inside the carriage with Rarity tonight and, while she wasn't a woman who valued comfort as much as practical applications, she had to admit it was a nice break from the hard wooden bench she favored when riding with Hans. The plush red fabric seats took out a good chunk of the normally jolting ride and the weak evening sunlight filtering in through the slitted windows gave the small compartment a rather calming feel. She glanced over at Rarity, just barely catching the tailor turning her head quickly away from the farmer, a small amount of heat traveling along the tailor's cheeks.

"I do hope the play is good," Rarity said.

"Book ain't too bad," Jack easily replied, staring out the window. _Though they'll probably ruin it with song numbers or somethin', _she thought.

"I didn't take you for the reading kind."

She shrugged. "I don't do it often, but I like ta crack open a book from time ta time."

"You're a far cry from Isabelle, then," Rarity huffed. "I don't believe I've _ever_ seen her sit down and read anything for entertainment."

The conversation dried up shortly afterward, leaving Rarity and Jack staring out their respective windows at the slowly passing landscape. It gave the farmer some time to think. Well, maybe not think.

Hope would be the better word.

She hoped the farm was doing ok, despite her absence. She hoped Bloom was keeping up on school. Most importantly, she hoped her Granny was having good days while Jack was gone—the matriarch seemed to have been sinking more and more into her own disillusioned world, one far away from Jack and the rest of her family. It tore at the farmer every time she thought of it, but from a practical perspective, it wasn't like the Apples' could do much for their ailing grandmother, besides herbal remedies provided by one of their closest neighbors—the medicine woman, Zecora.

The African had proved herself countless times in Jack's eyes—she was a good woman that had quite a bit of expertise in potion-making and had even helped with some of the repairs and harvesting around the farm when they were desperate for hands. Mac thought the world of the dark skinned woman, though he wasn't the type to talk out his emotions.

"So, I believe that there will be a dance before the play. Would you like to be my partner?" Rarity suddenly asked, breaking Jack away from her thoughts.

"Well..." the farmer trailed off.

"Oh, come now, Jack. You look quite stylish. I'd love to show you off! It's not often I get to advertise my own designs on other people." She smiled sweetly. "Well, people that are a far cry from my normal clientele, anyway."

"Ya mean people that actually _work_ a day in their lives?" Jack said dryly.

"I wouldn't call my clients 'blue collar' by any means, but some of them _do_ work." Her brow furrowed as she looked to the ceiling. "Occasionally."

000

Isabelle sat at the far corner of the student council room. Her slouched body tipped forward as exhaustion crept over her body—it was all she could do to stop herself from sliding off the chair and smacking her face onto the files she had spread all across the table. She numbly went back to examining the handwritten files, breezing through several profiles of the soul-folk teachers that resided here. With a heavy grunt of irritation, she called out to the only other person in the room.

"Yo, Twila. Any luck?"

Twila continued to look hard at the two dimensional screen levitating in front of her, seemingly oblivious to Dash's words. With a concentrated flick of the dark skinned woman's hand, the magical screen shifted images, flying through a large collection of faces, names, and student ID numbers in an uncanny blur. Every file she skimmed over had a wealth of information on it, but what drew her attention was the small, almost inconsequential stamp at the bottom right.

Red, orange, yellow, green. Each note on their documentation seemed out of place on something as benign as a school dossier, but, for their purposes, it was the most important aspect of the entire damn paper.

Earlier, Isabelle had found Twila and told the soul-folk the truth about yesterday's scare. The genius finally got the chance to do something to help only an hour ago, using her magic to infiltrate a secured and guarded room where the student records were held. To a normal soul-folk, the locked, lead based door leading inside would have been impossible to sneak magic through.

Shame for them she was no ordinary soul-folk.

When you had magic as your talent, impossible was met with a roll of the eyes-nothing more, nothing less.

The violet haired woman leaned back in her chair briefly and closed her eyes in thought.

_ Twila hid herself well in a janitorial closet a few rooms over from her target. She closed her eyes. Focused. Channeled her spirit into the aura of magic that surround her. She clenched her fist instinctively, bringing her aura to a point on her knuckle—a small dot of lavender the only clue she was using magic at all. She stumbled briefly, enveloped in the limbo between her body and her mind. With a quick press onto the ground, her spirit branched out, turning into into a small trickle-trail of magic. The woman's essence crept under the door and along the floor, wary of the guard nearby. _

_ The guard had her feet propped on top of a table and a magazine resting in her hands, working diligently on a long necked bottle of lukewarm beer. Twila's essence, though lacking ears, could pick up the start of, "Paint it Black." _

_ Twila didn't fear the guard. The trail, her consciousness, was so insignificant and borderline transparent at the moment that only the well trained or alert could spot it. The woman didn't appear to be either._

_ The soul-folk's essence moved to the locked door and searched carefully along its edges. She found what she was looking for—a small crack between the doorframe and the floor. She wiggled through, a mouse entering a small home._

_ Twila hissed briefly when she accidentally guided her essence upward and touched the lead with her magic; the odd feeling of a numbing jolt tingled her hands and for a brief flicker, she could feel her consciousness returning to her body, being pulled away from the steps she had crawled across moments ago._

_ Then that flicker of doubt was gone, replaced by a stubborn determination. With a doubling of effort, she pressed on, mentally enduring and marching forward through the miniscule hole. Soon, she felt a sweet release of the door's pressure—Twila's magic had overpowered the lead-based resistances and was now inside a small office. She took stock of the area, and her essence began to quickly change shape. Twila felt her form alter from a needle-thin stream into a stretching mass of magic similar to a thin glob of viscous jelly smeared on a concrete sandwich. It expanded, turning into a small puddle of violet. From it, rising as if climbing a steep stairwell, came first a gelatinous head, then, moments later, a neck. Torso. Arms and legs. Finally, free from the puddle, stood a lavender gel in the shape of Twila._

_ Twila examined her doppelganger's bare body, running an appraising eye up and down her arms and legs. She nodded in approval—everything seemed in working order._

Worked like a charm, _Twila thought. It wasn't often she had to create a doppelganger—usually an astral projection was a _far_ more efficient way to use her powers, but considering she would need to physically interact with the objects around her, a spell from the illusion school just wouldn't work. _

_ She frowned as a small dollop of her slimy shoulder slid down like sweat across her arm, and splattered to the ground. She needed to work fast, before this body collapsed in on itself._

_ The soul-folk stepped forward, her bare feet squelching on the concrete floor. Twila looked over the room, her eyes flowing over the desk and a small map of the school's floorplan, before finally settling on a large filing cabinet. She reached out, opening the cabinet's top drawer with a wet yank._

_ Inside would have been the jackpot, if she had been searching for money. A bag, nearly ruptured from all the bits inside, greeted her eyes. Twila figured it was part of the school's donations from some of the bigger businesses' owners. Between the Belle clan and Dorcis, the place was raking in cash._

_ Twila shut the drawer, moving on to greater things. She tried the second highest. This time, she lucked out. Inside was a book. She carefully used her magic to turn a page and was greeted with the beginning of an expansive list of the entire student roster—age, race, photograph, room location—it was all there and ready for her fingertips._

_ She looked down at her slimy hand. On second thought, she decided, magic would have to suffice._

_ Twila quickly levitated the book over to the desk and pointed. The book cracked open, and began to rapidly flip through its pages. The scholar could feel the information swimming in her magical essence, a mere gesture could bring it to light. When she returned to her true body, she'd be able to regurgitate the information her magic was absorbing into something cohesive enough to read and hopefully make sense of._

_ As she let her magic absorb the information, she took to making sure the room looked the same as when she came in—using her magic to deal with the jelly-like substance that peppered her footsteps and covered the drawer handles. Twila heard the book snap shut with a finality only a finished story provided as she cleaned up. With another quick gesture, she picked up the book with her magic, and placed it back into its normal location. She gave a quick nod of approval at the accomplished job, and finished the last of her cleaning up. Soon, the only thing left was the puddle of goo the doppelganger originated from. Twila waved her hand over it and watched it vanish underneath, as if it had never existed in the first place._

_ On seeing the room was clean, Twila formed another quick gesture, making her two ring fingers and thumbs into a large circle. She then blew into the center. The room seemed to briefly turn monochrome to her gelatinous eyes, then reverted to normal._

_ She doubted that they'd look over the room, doubted that they'd bring someone that could identify auras even more. But it never hurt to be safe. Better to cast a masking spell and not have it checked, then not cast one at all and risk detection._

_ With a muttered incantation and a snap of her fingers, the doppelganger she was housed in vanished into thin air. Twila felt the briefest moment of duality as her consciousness was torn between the vanished creature and her own physical body. In a heartbeat, she was back in her own body, drawing a deep breath of the stale air._

_ She rose, carrying a wealth of new information in her mind._

"Yo, Twi!" Dash loudly called once more across the room, irritation evident in the athlete's words. Twila snapped back to the task at hand.

"Sorry, Isabelle-"

"Don't call me that." Dash frowned, shaking her head at the name. "Did you find anything yet, egghead?"

"I've whittled our potential suspect list down to a far more sizable pool." Twila glanced at the magical screen still levitating prominently in front of her. "Thanks to being able to get a match on the aura saturating the rope, I've been able to narrow it down to thirty names."

"Can't ever be just one or two, can it?" the athlete swore under her breath.

Twila shook her head. "Sorry, Dash. The aura was a light blue-"

"One of the most common colors, yeah, yeah, yeah," Dash quickly answered, putting a finger to her temple. "Have you dug any deeper on those thirty? Previous clubs, arrival dates—something like that?"

Twila put her hand on the table and tapped a small notepad of a similar design to Dash's. She opened it and turned the book, handing it to Isabelle. "Going by attendance records for classes, we can reduce our pool by half—unless you still hold onto the notion that we cannot trust the word of the teachers."

Dash mulled it over, skimming through the names with a thumb. "I don't think any of the teaches would lie about a student being in their class at the time. That's something pretty easy to confirm, bro."

Twila sat in contemplation for a moment as Isabelle looked over her quickly created list. She sighed, rubbing tiredly at her eyes. The magic was starting to throb at her temples—it was about time to shut it down for an hour or two. "There's a person within those fifteen I feel warrants an investigation into," she reluctantly said, bridging her fingers underneath her chin.

Dash glanced up from the notes, waiting for Twila to continue.

"Alard von Blueblood." After dropping the name, she paused. "He's a cousin to the Pendragon's and a potential candidate for the crown. I-it's possible he was jealous of the time I spent with Celestia. That would give him motive..."

"For the cherry on top, he was an old flame of Rarity's," Dash continued, snapping the notebook shut and handing it back to Twila. She paced to the center of the room. "When you're part of my family, you're taught not to believe in coincidence, bro. Him being on that list _and_ having a beef with both of you just puts the nail in the coffin." Isabelle smirked. While she didn't have quite the dedication to do the duller aspects of detective work, she was like her uncle when it came to actually putting the pieces together and solving a puzzle like this—it gave her a feeling of accomplishment and euphoria only a runner's high could top. "Blueblood wanted to scare you two away, maybe damage the school's rep as insult to injury. It would have worked well, had he actually missed the blow; but that's the problem with domino plans like that—mess up one piece and it goes nowhere. It's bugging me on what he would have done next—it's not often you see someone with a loose gameplan like that."

Twila nodded. "What do you recommend we do?"

The Ritter popped her knuckles, smirking. "Tonight we'll have ourselves a social call."

000

The carriage pulled up by the school's fountain and started back towards St. Charles within moments of Jack and Rarity exiting. Not that they could blame the driver—the place was swamped with well dressed party goers spilling out from carriages and walking arm-and-arm down a plush red rug leading to the front entrance. Jack noticed a few stoic women adorned in the golden armor of Celestia's guard lining the walkway. They cast an appraising eye on everyone that walked towards the doors, keeping an eye out for troublemakers. It unnerved the farmer a bit—wasn't like she dealt with authority often.

"Last chance ta jus' go an' grab a bite ta eat instead," Jack offered half in jest.

"Oh hush," Rarity dismissed, closing her eyes and tilting her nose up. "I'm quite certain that this will be an enjoyable evening if you simply accept it." She approached the velvet rug alongside the farmer, then, with surprising speed and deftness, she snaked her delicate arm around the tanned woman's. Jack glanced down, then back up at Rarity.

"Ya weren't kiddin' bout that 'arm-in-arm' stuff, were ya?" the tall woman dryly asked, scratching at a freckled cheek.

"A lady does not 'kid,' Jack. She jests," Rarity corrected. As they continued walking the carpet, she lowered her voice slightly, leaning to the farmer's ear. "Do you not like it?"

"Like what?"

The violet-haired beauty wordlessly lifted up their entwined arms.

"Oh," Jack realized. The blonde scratched at the tip of her nose—furrowing her brow suddenly when she realized how much she was touching her face—then shook her head. "I dunno—I mean, it's nice enough, I guess."

The two soon entered the busy lobby. Jack gave a small tap on the other woman's shoulder and broke her hold. "I'll be back in a few. I _really_ gotta pee."

Rarity very nearly put her palm up to her face in exasperation. "I don't suppose you could have said you were powdering up, or you needed to step away for a minute?"

Jack blinked. "Heck no. I ain't touchin' no makeup ta my fac-"

"Never mind," Rarity quickly said. "I'll just wait for you here."

The farmer wandered off. Rarity sighed, moving to one of the large windows that lined the wall. Over on the other side, a woman on piano slowly played the opening of a slow blues song Jack was familiar with, "The heart of Damocles."

Rarity heard a presence walk close to her; she glanced to her side expecting Jack.

It was Isabelle, dressed less like a party goer and more like an ancient Greek goddess, with long white robes and golden trim at the waist and hem.

"Why, good evening, darling. How do you like the dress?" Rarity questioned.

Dash gave a quick glance over herself, from the golden circlet at her temples to her brown sandals. "I'll give you cred: it's pretty nice. Still too girly, but at least it's pretty cool." She rolled her neck. "Then again, it might just be cool because I'm in it." The athlete moved towards the window as Rarity scoffed. The two stared out towards the stars. "Not too bad of a night."

"Indeed. It is a magnificent one." Rarity smiled.

They stood in a companionable silence for a moment, before Isabelle spoke again. "So, I saw who you came in with," she said, smirking. "Never thought you'd shoot for the naive country girl—you were always more of a high-class broad."

Rarity felt like the conversation had turned into a minefield. "Do not call me a broad, you imbecile. As for my type... I will admit, Jack is a far cry from the people I usually mingle with. Yet she's intriguing enough that I wanted a chance to get to know her, especially after she expressed an interest in me."

That got Dash's attention. "Really? Less than a week in and she's already hitting on people? I'm impressed."

"It wasn't something so unseemly as hitting on me, Isabelle. She sent me a token of her affection."

"I did what now?" a familiar drawl curiously chimed in. Jack moved carefully in her heels towards Isabelle and Rarity. She raised her eyebrow.

Rarity coyly smiled. "No need to hide the truth, darling. I thought it was a fabulous gift—especially considering how expensive I'm sure it was."

"What, the lemon bars?" She scratched behind her ear. "Rare, those cost me like two bits."

"Including a zapapple topping? I doubt it," Rarity stated. "A pan of lemon bars from Sugar Cube Corner runs at least eight bits."

"I shoulda guessed Pinkie was givin' me some kinda deal..." She took in a breath. "Look, I got those ta make up fer me bein' an ass ta ya at breakfast the other day—ain't nothin' more than that."

"Oh," Rarity simply said. After a beat, she swallowed. "I mistook your actions, Jack. For that, I apologize. Please forgive my... earlier mannerisms. I thought you had simply taken an interest to me."

"That's not-"

Before Jack could say anything more, Rarity took a brisk step towards the grand stairwell at the far end of the room. She stole one more glance out the large windows. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I believe I shall head to the auditorium. My offer still stands regarding the theater box, Jack. One misunderstanding shouldn't ruin a new friendship, after all, and I did promise you a fantastic seat for the play."

Jack watched Rarity leave. After a beat, she made a motion to follow the violet haired beauty, but was promptly stopped by Dash's hand on her arm.

"Real talk, bro?" Isabelle asked, meeting the tall girl's gaze.

"What?"

"You're not some kinda... you know... floozy or player or something, right? 'Cause I know the tricks, pretending you're hot for her one moment, then cold the next, and-"

The farmer leaned forward, coming close to the others face. "_Dash,_" she growled in warning.

Isabelle shook her head, putting her hands up defensively. Though she couldn't help the small smirk that popped up from the corner of her lip. "Look, I'm only asking because it's her, alright? She's had a few snobs do her wrong in the past. I'm keeping an eye out."

"A shepherd tending to their flock," Jack dryly answered, still in a sour mood about Isabelle's question. Her family never had wandering eyes, and Jack would be damned if she would.

"That's worded a bit different than what I'd say, but sure." She scratched at her neck and stepped to the side. "If you're thinking abou—"

"I ain't thinkin' bout _nothin'_ right now, Dash. I'd like ta jus' get ta know her better first. If she had jus' listened ta me a damn second ago instead of takin' off..."

The girl smirked, running a hand through her multi-hued bangs. "_If_ you end up, you know, going after her, well, she could do worse." Her expression fell. "But that's not all I needed to say to you, hayseed. We might have found the guy responsible for last night's scare. I wanted to see if you were game on joining me and Twila later on."

Jack quickly nodded. "I wanna find the guy jus' as much as you, I reckon."

"That's what I expected of you, bro." Isabelle smiled. She tapped the farmer's shoulder with her fist. "Meet me and the bookworm in our dorm after the play and whatev. I'll let you chase after the dame now."

"Glad I got yer permission," the farmer grunted, heading towards the stairwell.

000

Rarity sighed, standing near the wall of the theater. The woman didn't know why she had decided to stay on the floor without a partner—it was an exercise in frustration. She was being bombarded by offers to dance, but right now she didn't have the heart to join any of the bachelors or bachelorettes seeking her favor.

_I was so naive,_ she brooded, watching the swaying crowd make their way through a violin piece.

It really had seemed too good to be true, in retrospect. A stranger shows up and not only grants a token of her affection, but saves Rarity's life all within the same week? It was ridiculous.

It was even more ridiculous that Rarity was so intrigued by Jack. They had only known one another for a few days now—far too short to develop any sort of real attachment, romantic or otherwise.

But, still...

_The flower might not be in bloom, but I think the seeds were at least planted, _Rarity heard in her mother's, sweet, kindly voice.

She frowned at the words, hating how close to true they were.

"There ya are," she heard a familiar drawl say. Rarity pushed her thoughts to the side and did her best to smile through the hurt.

"Jack." She nodded politely, watching the girl move and lean against the theater wall. Rarity mentally screamed at the thought of Jack's suit and the grime that might be on it now. "The play's not for another hour."

"I ain't dumb. I know it's not time fer it. I, uh." She cocked her head towards the crowd.. "I jus' wanted ta see if you were up fer a dance."

Rarity narrowed her gaze at the farmer. "So, let me understand this: you tell me mere moments ago that you had no interest in me. Now you're asking for a dance?" She scowled. "That is far from proper manners, Ms. Apple."

The farmer sighed. "When ya put it that way, it makes me sound like an ass." She briefly put a finger to her temple. "Look, Rare, honest. I ain't tryin' ta yank yer chain left an' right. I'm jus' makin' sure we're straight regardin' one another."

"Straight?" Rarity repeated, tilting her head at Jack's choice of words.

"Yeah. Straight. Like on the level." she thought briefly. "When I first met ya, I thought that you were the very definition of a pampered pain in the ass." Rarity's fists balled up; Jack quickly rushed to finish. "But then I had a chance ta talk with ya an' I realized that under the makeup an' dress was a sweet woman that could take a joke, ya know?" The farmer crossed her arms. "I don't want ya ta make the same mistake I did, judgin' a book 'fore ya know 'bout it. I ain't no Princess Charmin'. I don't do lil' romantic gifts or gestures—hell, I ain't got a damn clue on how ta really _do_ dates an' the like." The tanned woman breathed out, stressed at having to actually talk out her thoughts on the matter. "If yer interested in me, I want it ta be fer me, not someone ya _think_ I am, ya know? I want us both ta have clean slates on the matter. I don't see you as a spoiled brat, an' you don't see me as a white knight." After she said her peace, she scowled. "Damn it. I probably done hosed that up. Sorry, Rare. I ain't never been good with words."

The beauty smiled at Jack. "I can forgive you, Jack. I think I understand where you're coming from regarding how I've treated you. If you wish, I'm more than happy to drop the flirtatious acts and hand-holding."

"I... I don't mind the flirtin'," Jack quickly replied, scratching at her cheek. "It's, uh, nice ta get a complement every now an' again."

Rarity held back a laugh at watching the farmer stammer. There was something quite enjoyable indeed about reducing Jack to an unsure pile of nerves.

The two stood silently for a moment, before Rarity coyly smiled. "Well, Jack. I do believe you were offering me the opportunity to dance..." she encouraged, holding out her arm.

"Hang on a sec." The Apple kicked off her dress shoes and put them to the side. The beauty glanced down distastefully at Jack's bare feet. Before she could voice her complaint, the Apple took Rarity's hand and walked out onto the floor just as the music increased in tempo. Jack rested one hand on the small of Rarity's back, and the other held out to the side. They began moving in synchronicity, floating, turning, and swaying across the ballroom.

"Viennese Waltz," Rarity marveled as Jack dipped her.

"I thought ya might like it more than the Foxtrot, an' the music ain't exactly good fer the Mambo," the farmer easily said, bringing Rarity back up and quickly moving back to the brisk turning motion.

"Where did you learn to dance like this?"

Jack wryly smiled, giving the violet-haired beauty another dip. "Spent a year an' a half in Manhattan with my Aunt an' Uncle. Dancin' was 'bout the only thing I did regularly—got pretty good at leadin' an' followin', if ya ask me."

Rarity's face glowed. "Fascinating. What was the gem of Caballo like?"

The blonde seemed hesitant to answer; she brought Rarity in close and began to spin once more. "Place wasn't no gem, Rare," she adamantly said.

"I just can't understand that, Jack. I've always heard glowing recommendations to visit it. Why, in one of my fashion magazines, it says that Manhattan's the love capital of the world!"

"If by love, ya mean brothels on every corner fer the poor folk an' two wives on each arm fer the rich, I'd agree," Jack dryly said.

"My, you really didn't like the place."

"Ya think?" The farmer scowled, moving aggressively across the floor. Rarity held on, being careful not to suffer whiplash.

"Why did you remain there for so long if you despised it that much?"

The southerner glanced to the ground. "I hated the farm jus' as bad fer a bit there," Jack admitted.

"Hmm?" Rarity blinked. "Really? From the way you held yourself, I presumed that you were quite proud of your roots."

"'Course I am!" Jack argued. The song finished. Everyone dancing paused, taking a bow amid a clapping audience. A slower tune began—the farmer brought the tailor in closer, transitioning her stepping pattern into an English Waltz. She began to speak again once the two regained their correct tempo. "I jus' couldn't look at the place without cringing when I was younger."

"Did something happen, or...?" Rarity trailed off, suddenly looking askance. "I'm sorry, darling. I'm sure you don't want to talk about it."

"It was years ago-'fore I even got my Mark. Time heals wounds on yer body an' yer mind, ya know? It really ain't too much of a sore subject no more." She threw out her leading arm; Rarity followed it with her body, spinning briefly on one foot before being pulled back into Jack's grip. "Lost my Ma and Pa when I was a young'in. Farm felt pretty empty after that." She thought briefly, staring deep into Rarity's azure eyes. "I left fer a bit. Had ta get away from the hurt. So I traveled. Eventually, the road took me ta Manhattan." Jack gave Rarity another tilt, holding the woman safe as the tailor arched her back and her violet hair swam in poetic motion. The farmer smiled slightly at the sight. Rarity seemed to be made for dancing. "Guess the rest tells itself, huh?"

"Mmm, I suppose it does, judging by your behavior and accent. However, the fact you forgot how to speak like a proper woman after being exposed to high society for a year astounds me."

"It's jus' like ridin' a bike, Rare." Jack briefly shifted her pose, tilting her nose up and gazing to the distance at an object only she could see. "For, you see, it is a talent one can easily show to others, if the need arises, my dear," she said in the regal, near perfect dialect of Camelot's rich. Rarity stumbled briefly, caught off balance by Jack's cultured, reserved tone. The farmer snorted and promptly gave up her stance, seeming to revert back to the easygoing country girl in a matter of seconds.

"S-so the southern accent is fake? You can speak like a normal person?" Rarity questioned. Jack glared daggers at the woman she held in her arms. "You know what I meant," the violet-haired woman said.

The two danced each lost in their own thoughts. Finally, Jack broke the silence that had cast a spell on the two. "Accent ain't fake," Jack dismissed. "All that fancy stuff is. I came from the country—_my_ country. If I talked fancy, wore fancy clothes, ate fancy food? I'd jus' be lyin' ta myself. Like I said, Rare, I am who I am. Ain't got no need or want ta change myself."

And amid the other dancers, each was lost to the other as the band played on.

000

The dance event ended soon after. Jack and Rarity wadded through the crowds and retired to the Belle's private booth overlooking the stage. The farmer stared down at the floor, her thoughts briefly returning to Rarity nearly splitting her skull open. As she looked over the still dissipating crowd of people, she noticed the staff carrying in dozens of tables.

"Wonder what's goin' on there?" Jack pondered.

"Guests of honor. Namely supporters for the school, board directors, and the principal."

"Princesses gonna be down there tonight?"

"Actually, they're already seated at a box like ours." Rarity gestured, pointing towards a seating area on the opposite side of the room from the stage. In it were two regal and, frankly, imposing figures.

One was a beautiful woman with a motherly build, adorned in plate armor of the finest silvers. On her shoulder was a piece of white cloth, boldly showcasing Caballo's national symbol of prosperity—a blazing orange sun. Resting at her side was a rapier with a humble brass finish. It seemed almost out of place on the heavily tanned Princess. She ran a hand through her multicolored, billowing hair, and smiled politely at the workers below her.

Sitting next to the Princess of the day was what seemed to be her polar opposite. It was a woman about ten years younger than the Daywalker, with pale skin that reminded Jack of ice. She wore dark, violet armor and sat in a regal, militaristic posture. She held the shaft of a spear carefully in one hand and tapped her finger against the pommel of a short sword at her side. Her cyan eyes flickered in in out of sight, as her night colored hair floated in an unfelt breeze.

"Celestia and Luna in the flesh. I'll be damned if I ever thought I'd see 'em in person," Jack said.

Rarity glanced at the farmer. "I forget you haven't been around much, Jack. Celestia visits Twila on occasion here. She really is _quite_ the lady, even if she does mask it under armor and blade."

"Excalibur..." Jack marveled. "A divine sword only the rightful heir to Arthur Pendragon's throne is said to be able to unsheathe."

"It's just a sword, darling," Rarity retorted.

"Probably," the tanned woman agreed, hoisting her legs up on the boxes safety rail. "But it's still a nifty thing, ya know? Same as Luna's spear. That, uh, Ron-somethin'?"

"Rhongomyniad," Rarity easily answered, glancing over her nails.

"... The hell kinda name is that? Yeah. Ron-somethin'."

The violet-haired woman rolled her eyes. Before she could retort, the lights dimmed and the elderly figure of Hans stepped onto stage.

"Good evening," he addressed the audience. "Tonight's presentation will be in honor of Lady Luna Pendragon, home after a long and tiring crusade into the untamed northlands. I would like a round of applause for the two living legends gracing us with their presence."

The auditorium thundered with clapping; Luna still held her posture, but there was obvious heat flooding her face thanks to the attention.

"Lady Pendragon, you have always done well to remember Uther and Arthur in your actions, as has your sister," Hans complemented. "I can only hope that the show we're going to put on tonight shows at least a fraction of our appreciation." He glanced easily at the crowd, scratching at his dark and lined face. "As for the rest of you, don't worry. We'll get you all some food served up soon." He gestured behind him, towards the curtain. "With that, I present to you _The Count of Monte Cristo_."

000

Dmitri ate at his table as he watched the play in rapt attention. He cut into his steak and dabbed at the juices leaking out of the meat with a roll.

"Quite a show they're putting on," he said to the large, imposing man in a suit standing near him.

"If you say so, Mr. Dorcas," came the dismissive reply. The man ran a hand over the large and garish burn mark on his cheek as he kept an eye out for any trouble. After a beat, the guard sniffed loudly and scrunched his nose.

"Hitting your goods is more trouble than it's worth, Dorado," Dmitri cheerfully advised, cutting once more into his steak. The muscle-bound man was not amused—he briefly gave thought to yanking the other's silvery-gray goatee right off his stupid face.

Instead he crossed his arms behind his back and replied, "I'll keep that in mind, Mr. Dorcas."

"Good." The older of the two reached over and took a sip of his wine. "It would be quite a shame to lose you. Especially considering what may happen to my young associate tonight."

"Blueblood not living up to expectations?"

"He's late. That wouldn't happen if he hadn't made a mistake somewhere along the line," Dorcas reasoned with a sigh. "Shame too. I had hopes that he could be counted on. Oh well, plenty of fish, Elton."

Dorado nodded in agreement, inwardly scowling at Dorcas's use of his first name. "Shall I get a list of candidates composed?"

Dmitri was about to sound off his agreement, when he saw Blueblood trying his best to sneak around the other tables. "Mmm. Wait for a moment. I'm curious what he has to say first."

Alard arrived at the table to see Dorcas finishing up the last of his steak and his hired muscle regarding Blueblood with a stare normally reserved for annoying insects.

"Good evening, Mr. Blueblood. I trust you are well?" Dorcas asked.

"Q-quite." Alard nodded. "Yourself?"

"Fine. Save for the fact that they're still sitting smugly where _I_ should be," he huffed like a child, giving a nod towards the Princesses and their box seat.

"They shouldn't' be in there," Blueblood promptly agreed, nodding his head so briskly that it might snap. "Why-"

"Not that seat, whelp," Dorcas argued, glancing towards the young man. "I mean the seat of Caballo's power." He thrust a thumb towards his chest with his free hand. "_Me_. I deserve it far more than they do. With what_ I_ have coursing through my veins, I-" he cut himself off, realizing his grip on his drinking glass had created a small network of hairline cracks all along the object. He took a breath and forced himself to speak in a chipper tone once more. "But enough of _them,_" he said with disgust. "After all, we're working to resolve that problem, one small step at a time. Rather, let's turn the conversation to _you_. You're late with your report. I was afraid something had happened," Dorcas said, his smile cold. Calculating.

"No. N-nothing's happened," Alard lied, already beginning to sweat. This wasn't going to plan at all.

"Come on now. Do you really think I'd believe that?" The middle-aged man said, casually playing with his steak knife. "You've never been late telling me anything, especially simple updates. Something has clearly happened, Mr. Blueblood. Would you be so kind as to say what?"

He clenched his eyes shut. "I-I made a miscalculation. Nothing mor-"

Dmitri leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "What sort of... 'miscalculation,' Mr. Blueblood?"

"I-I just meant to give her a scare, like you mentioned, Mr. Dorcas. I didn't mean for someone to nearly get hurt, honest," Alard blubbered, slightly cowering under Dmitri's unchanging gaze.

The man adjusted his tie and wiped his mouth with a napkin. "You know I hate mistakes almost as much as I hate your pathetic groveling. I specifically said not to harm her. How can you fail such an easy concept?" Dorcas sighed, leaning back in his chair.

"G-give me another chance, sir. I can do this."

"I don't know. How would I be certain that you wouldn't ruin my fun again?"

"I'll do anything! _Please_!"

Dorcas stroked his goatee. After a beat, he beckoned Dorado over. The scarred man moved in close—Dorcas whispered something into his ear. The other raised his brow, interested.

"If that's what you wanna do," the bodyguard said.

"Good!" Dimitri clasped his hands together. "Ok, Blueblood, let's make a game of it—after all, what's the point if you can't have a bit of _fun_ now and again?"

"A... game?" Alard slowly said.

"Of course." Dmitri earnestly nodded. "A game. If you win, you get to stay in my good graces, and I'll give you that second chance you so desperately want."

Blueblood took in a shaky breath. At least now he stood a chance. "W-what if I lose?"

The other's smile evaporated. He gazed hard at the young man. "The same thing that happens to everyone that stops entertaining me."

"I'll do it," Alard instantly replied. "Whatever you want."

Dorcas's toothy smile quickly returned. "Good, good, good. I knew you'd take the chance. Mr. Dorado will show you what you need to do."

"Y-yes sir." Alard instantly rose as the guard walked towards him. "I won't forget your kindness."

"You won't forget much of anything tonight, I believe." Dorcas cracked a half-smile as the two walked away from the table. Without missing a beat, he returned his attention back to the play.

~000~

Jack awoke with a start to thunderous applause. She twitched in her chair, nearly toppling over at the sudden noise. "I-I'm up!" she called, glancing around the box seat. "Oh."

"You've been asleep for the past hour and a half," Rarity stated, shooting a disapproving glare. "We're at intermission."

"The play still ain't done yet?" Jack asked, rising from her chair and popping her back.

"It's _intermission_, darling. We're only halfway there."

Jack suppressed a weary groan.

"Y-you've got a bit of..." Rarity gestured to the corner of her mouth. Jack mirrored the action, rubbing at the spot with the back of her hand. "Better." The tailor nodded. She rose and headed towards the booth's exit. "Come on, Ms. Apple. We have a rendezvous to attend."

000

Rarity escorted Jack to the student counsel room. As they opened it, they were greeted by two figures standing at the far end of the room, and four more sitting at the long table by the windows.

"Lady Belle! It's quite nice seeing you once again," Celestia beamed, raising a gauntlet hand from her position near the blackboard. Rarity curtsied, smiling at the earthen-skinned woman as Jack stared, open mouthed at the two living legends. "Please, have a seat. I'd love to catch up with what you've been doing."

"Things _far_ more trivial than you, of that I can guarantee," Rarity humbly said.

"The mundane begets the grand, does it not?" the pale, black armored woman to Celestia's side retorted.

"Wise words, Luna," her sister agreed. Celestia's attention briefly turned to Jack. "So, this must be the farmer, Jack. Am I correct?"

It took several seconds for Jack to overcome her near mental breakdown. The rulers of the country. The leaders of the Caballien council here. In this room. "Uh, eyup," the farmer said after a long pause. She swallowed nervously and bowed. "R-right pleased ta meet ya."

"Arise, Jack of the Apple clan," Luna ordered. The farmer complied instantly. The Nightwalker smiled—an action that was no more than a pencil-thin line on her snowy features. "Pull up a chair, daughter of Johnny. Rarity and thou hath arrived just as we have begun palaver."

Jack grabbed a seat next to the grinning Diane. The pink haired woman laughed.

"Aren't you just a gussied-up goosie?" Pinkie chortled, clapping her hands cheerfully. "With your nicely nice suit and hair all braidalaidaley."

"Uh... thank... you?" Jack replied, guessing that was a complement. She turned her attention back to the two leaders of Caballo. "So, what's this palaver business? It a game?"

Luna rubbed at her chin, giving a confused glance towards the blonde. "Nay, tis palaver—where we may speak to our dear fellows without a care of title nor rank. I was merely going to tell young Lady Shields about a discovery up north that could revolutionize the world. Mayhaps not in our time, but in the time of our children's children." She looked at Twila. "Thou art aware of the Scale theory, correct?"

Twila smiled. "What a surprise! I was actually speaking to Jack about that very thing a few days ago."

"In the far north, past the claimed lands of the Norfolk and the craggy mountain ranges of Everwinter, our adventuring party discovered a magic anomaly. Twas a pool akin to a hot springs, nestled on a small plateau between two of the largest mountains in the area. Though we were surely tempted to jump in and awash ourselves free of the biting cold, we took precautions—the burnt scent of magic all but spilled from the shoreleine of those waters, and none of us were keen on stepping into an unknown magic."

At this, the pale woman leaned forward, smiling. "We examined it and discovered it was a gateway."

"To where?" Twila asked, just as enthused as the Nightwalker. "The Everfree forest in the land of the griffons?"

"Farther." Luna's smile widened.

Twila gave it another brief moment. "The Everlost desert in the west?"

"We shall tell thou where it took us: a small island inside the Bermuda Triangle."

The scholar narrowed her brow. She ran her fingers through her lavender hair. "I've never heard of the place."

"Because it is not part of this world."

The words hit Twila like a sack of bricks—she shot out of her chair and leaned forward on the table. "Y-you found another _world_?!" she proclaimed.

"Mayhaps 'another world' isn't right. 'Another dimension' would be the more precise. There were many similarities to our own—music, variations of our own history and, as icing on the cake, a similar language, at least with the single native I encountered."

"Fascinating. Was the native a tribal of some sort?"

"Nay, Lady Shields. He was a commercial piloting what they call an aerodynamic plane—a ship that flies the air rather than the sea. He lost his vessel traveling what he called 'the Devil's Triangle.' He was akin to an earth-folk—he had no magic to claim, and seemed frightened when I produced spells of my own. He was convinced that he was suffering a fever dream."

"So, the world had no magic?"

Luna nodded, absentmindedly tapping the pommel of her sword. "According to him, thou art correct. He was from the town of Manhattan in Amarenihka, and that it was their most advanced town in the world. If his people didn't know about magic, I have doubts that anyone else in their world does."

"Manhattan?" Jack spoke up. "How do they got one of them too?"

"As We mentioned, their lands are a parallel to our own. For example, during one of our nightly palavers, the man mentioned that I looked akin to a knight from King Arthur's round table. I pressed him on the matter; I thought if he knew of my father, then he might know of myself."

"And...?" Twila pressed. Luna shook her head.

"Not only had he never heard of me, but he stated that Arthur Pendragon was a simple story designed to inspire people in a dark period of their history."

"That don't make a lick a damn sense," Jack argued. "If it's a parallel like yer sayin', then where's the connections? How do we get spells an they get flyin' ships or whatever you were sayin'?"

Luna crossed her arms and bounced her head briefly. "A parallel does not follow line for line, Jack."

"But-"

"-I consider the two worlds closest to a game of chance using dice. The numbers rolled may be different, but is it not true that they abide by the same rules, correct? Both sets are made from bone and decorated with ink, both have similar weight, both are rolled from the same cup. One world's myth may very well be fact in the other, due to extenuating circumstances, and vice versa.."

"Hmm," Jack grunted, crossing her arms. "I ain't sure if I like the idea of me jus' bein' a story or somethin' in another world."

"Myth wouldn't be so bad, methinks. Tis when you meet yourself in flesh and bone—_that_ is when the problems would arise."

"A second me..." Jack trailed off, the thought filling her gut with a deep seated dread.

"God help us all if there were two of the hayseed in the same room," Dash disinterestedly quipped, propping her feet onto the table and gazing at the Nightwalker. "Now, not to hurry you along, your highness, but when are you going to mention why you're telling us all of this?"

"I simply thought I'd share some of my findings with you all. Lady Shields has always been interested in the sciences, and I believed she would appreciate our discovery." The pale woman looked towards the scholar. "That, and with this new information, I was hoping to bring forth a proposition."

"For me?" Twila said, pointing a finger at her chest.

"Indeed. I was hoping on our next excursion to this other world, you could venture with me."

Twila's eyes widened to almost comedic proportions. "M-me?! Going to a world only a handful have visited?" She clapped her hands gleefully. "L-let me go get packed!"

Luna chuckled, the action strange coming from such a serious and somber looking individual. "Nay, Twila. I only arrived back in my homeland days ago. I shan't be leaving for a while. Besides, thou needs to complete your education here as well."

At Luna's words, the young woman calmed down a bit. "Right." She coughed into her hand. "My apologies—I was far too enthused at the idea."

"Tis an exciting concept. While my knowledge has always been focused upon warfare and tactics, I cannot help but be enthralled by the new world myself." She stole a glance to the Daywalker. "My apologies, Celestia. I spoke far beyond my normal amount. I fear I may have stole thine thunder."

Celestia smiled good-naturedly. "I was not the one traveling to exotic locations and speaking to outworlders. Please, speak as much as you like—the floor is yours. I'm sure they have questions."

"Ooh! Ooh!" Pinkie shouted, lifting her hand up as high as she could and waving her arm frantically.

"Mmm?" Celestia questioned. "Is something the matter, Diane?"

"I was just wondering if they had video games a-and pizza and dinosaurs there!"

Luna tilted her head, recalling the many nights of palaver she held with the native. "I, uh, believe they _did_ have the first two, mayhaps even the third. However, I cannot say our topics crossed over much regarding entertainment, save for music. "

Pinkie nodded, content with the answer.

"Could We ask why thou were wondering those... very specific items?"

"Simple! Because any world with pizza and video games in it can't be evil, right?"

Dash felt like she was stepping onto a landmine. "A-and the dinosaurs?" she asked.

Pinkie grinned and put two fingers next to her jaw. "Because dinosaurs are, like, super-cool! Raaaahhhh!" she bellowed, hopping above her chair and standing proudly on top of the wooden table.

The rest in the room did their best to ignore her.

Celestia seemed to suddenly perk up. "Does anyone have the time?"

Twila snapped her fingers. An ethereal grandfather clock rose from the floor. Its ghostly visage shown five minutes until the hour.

"Showboat," Isabelle said.

"A little bit," Twila admitted, blushing slightly. "I was mostly curious if I could get the shape and consistency of a time-measuring device that large."

"Something like this should be cake for a soul-folk as strong as you are. Heck, you could probably do a clock-tower without breaking a sweat." Dash smirked, playing with a strand of hair.

The talented soul-folk smiled at her friend, saying nothing.

"As much as it pains me to say so, we should return to the theater box—the play will return in moments, and twould be folly to miss even a moment," Luna said politely. "While mine sister and I have pressing matters after the play, we will be returning to campus soon. We may..." she put a gauntleted finger to her chin in thought. "Hang out then. H-hang out? Is that atypical speech for this generation?" she asked herself.

"Close enough, bro," Dash answered with a shrug.

000

The play finally ended two hours later. Rarity was in tears at its conclusion. She rose amid the roar of clapping, cheering the play with a whistle.

Jack was in tears too, for entirely different reasons. The damn thing was just so boring. She was lucky it didn't have any musical numbers, or she would have lept from the box seat and hoped the impact would be enough to kill her.

"T-that was such a magnificent piece!" Rarity said, dabbing at the corner of her eye with a napkin. "Maximilian was so noble!"

"It was, uh, somethin'," Jack said, being as vague as she could get away with. She rose from her chair and massaged her shoulder. It was throbbing again. Thankfully, that's all it was doing—no shooting pains, no numbness, just throbbing. Jack was grateful she bounced back from injuries pretty quick. "I got a feelin' the road's gonna be pretty crowded. Ya wanna jus' walk back?"

"Well..." Rarity debated. "A lady walking down the road at night? I'm afraid I might be a target..."

_Especially after yesterday,_ Jack finished in her mind. Rarity didn't have to finish her implication—the farmer could tell she was worried just by her body language.

"I'll go with ya, sugar. Let me jus' head back ta my room an' change outta these damn shoes first."

000

They walked the miles together in silence. It was far from awkward, however. The small half-smiles each swapped back and forth were simply all the conversation either one needed. As gorgeous as the night was, breaking the spell it had cast on the world with talking seemed like a mortal sin.

The two passed through town, and finally ended up at the entrance of the Carousel Boutique.

"Well, here we are," Rarity said, moving to the door. She turned to face the earth-folk. "Thank you for escorting me back."

"Ain't a problem." the farmer nodded.

"And thank you for joining me tonight. I had a good time."

"Eyup." _Never doin' a play again, though,_ Jack thought. "If we do somethin' again, I'm pickin' what."

"I suppose I can understand that logic," Rarity said. She stood silently on the doorstep, seeming to want to say something. "Well..." She looked up with a sly smile, waiting for Jack to take initiative.

The farmer leaned forward. "Hey Rare?" she quietly whispered.

"Y-yes?" The tailor blushed.

"Can I come inside fer a minute?"

Rarity crossed her arms and shook her head. "I said the date was 'good,' not 'phenomenal,'" she dryly retorted.

"What? N-no, I, uh, jus' wanted ta get my hat," the farmer stammered, her face hot.

"Oh," Rarity eloquently stated. "Figures," she muttered under her breath.

The tailor let Jack inside and waited by the front—the farmer quickly grabbed her trusty stetson, then tromped back downstairs. She scooted past Rarity and stepped once more into the tranquil night.

"I reckon I'll head out now. Gotta take care of a few odds an' ends," the farmer said. She took a step forward, but was stopped by Rarity grabbing her hand. Jack turned slightly, raising her brow. "Uh, somethin' ya ne-"

The tailor stood on her toes and leaned forward, pecking Jack's check with a kiss. Before the blonde could say anything, Rarity winked and disappeared into her home, shutting the door behind her. The Apple pushed up her hat and scratched her forehead.

"I ain't _never_ gonna understand that woman."

000

Jack decided to fight through the crowd and hitch a ride on one of the wagons—she had already ate enough time walking to Ponyville, now she needed to get back to Dash.

After a dull ride back to the school, the tall woman quickly traveled to her dorm, where she found Twila thumbing through a novel, and Dash half-asleep on her bed, listening to a metal song on a small radio.

"Bout damn time, hayseed," Isabelle remarked, opening a rose colored eye. She stretched out and sat up. "Was starting to think you'd ditched."

"I ain't the type. Jus' took me longer ta get ta St. Charles an' back than I woulda liked."

"Well," Twila started, snapping the book in her hands shut. "Now that we're here, we can see about getting answers."

"Alright. What's the plan?" Jack said, leaning against a wall. She tugged her fingers through her hair, getting rid of the pesky braid she had been wearing it in.

"Simple enough for now. I did some investigation and found his room number. We enter and ask him some questions."

"At this time of night?" Jack glanced over at the clock on the small table by her bed. "I ain't sure if he'll be awake."

"Groggy's good for answers, bro," Isabelle said, popping her neck. "It'll throw him off guard being woke up like this."

"An' are ya _sure_ he's the right fella?" the farmer questioned.

"We looked through quite a few names, Jack. He's the only one that really jumped out at us," Twila reasoned. "That, and the aura I pulled from the rope matches his. Statistically, he's 80% more likely than the rest of our potential candidates to commit a crime like this."

"That still leaves us with a 25% chance he ain't," Jack argued.

"20%, bro," Dash corrected.

"Whatever."

"I'm willing to take a chance. Worst thing that could happen is that we get expelled," the athlete casually remarked with a shrug. The other two in the room shared nervous glances. Twila nervously tugged at her neckline. "I'd kill for answers at this point, so..."

"Alright, alright. I'm game," Jack agreed.

"I cannot say I enjoy the risk, but we can't let him potentially walk away from something like what he did." Twila headed towards the door. "Let's see what we can find out."

000

The three soon found themselves in front of room 215. Twila exchanged glances with Dash and Jack.

"Either of you know how to pick a lock?" she asked. Isabelle smirked, moving towards the door. With one well-placed kick above the doorknob, the lock snapped, forcing the door open and leaving the top hinge loose.

"I've always wanted to do that," Isabelle quipped.

"_Jesus_, Dash," the farmer hissed, looking nervously around. "Think anyone heard?"

"You kidding? This floor's for the high-class guys and gals. The rooms might as well be sound-proof."

The quiet hallway seemed to show that Isabelle was speaking the truth.

"Let's go," Twila urged, stepping inside. She felt along the wall and flicked on the lights, illuminating the room.

It was lavish. A large double bed and bathroom to their left, a furnished living room with a television screen dead ahead, and a comfortable kitchen area separated from the living room by a waist high counter to their right.

"Shit. Why can't I have a room like this?" Dash quipped.

"Cause I'm guessin' yer 'bout as bone-dry on bits as I am, sugar," the farmer replied.

"Guys. We're missing something," Twila quickly said, snapping her friends back into the game.

Dash looked over at the bed. "Where's our man?" she asked as she took a few tentative steps towards the living room.

"With him not around, guess this was a wasted trip," Jack crossly said.

"Not quite," Twila said. "If he was an earth or sky-folk, maybe. Soul-folk, however..." She leaned to the side, looking past the blonde. "Isabelle? Do you see anything I could use as a catalyst?"

"What?" Jack asked.

"Search the room. Try to find something sentimental looking," the soul-folk instructed. "Easier to show than tell."

The farmer did as instructed, moving to the bed. She checked a nightstand nearby and noticed a small portrait of a blond haired man smiling broadly at the camera. "Somethin' like this?" she asked, returning to Twila.

"Really? A portrait of himself? Figures." Twila shook her head, then glanced to Jack. "Remember what I told you a few days back regarding soul-folk, and how they go to school to control their emotions?"

"More or less."

"Well, we're obviously not perfect. We can't remove our emotions at the drop of a hat—we simply suppress them when we're utilizing magic. Still with me?"

"Eyup."

"Well, really strong emotions? They leave behind an aura all of their own. If we have an object that contains some sort of connection to the person, we can briefly see where they're at, before the link between the two is severed."

"So... kinda like lickin' a fuse ta make it work fer a bit? Once yer spit's gone, the thing craps out again."

Twila tilted her head. "That's... actually a pretty apt description. As long as his essence hasn't been hidden by magic, we should briefly be able to see where he's at. We might be able to recognize the location." She put her hand on top of the picture and concentrated, wincing as the familiar tingle of a spell escaped her fingertips and touched the photograph.

Without even a moment's pause, her perspective became distorted, shifting the room she stood in to bizarre, impossible shapes and angles. Jack said something, Twila believed, but the purple-haired woman couldn't tell what it was. She felt drugged, weak. The soul-folk summoned the strength to swivel her head to the side, and noted that the door leading to Blueblood's bathroom appeared to be leaking—it's off white color was vanishing, as was the color of the burgundy carpet, being painted black instead. The walls, Jack, Isabelle. They were all being painted black. Twila weakly tried to say something, but found herself speechless. As she watched, horrified, the whole world was painted black.

000

_ When the blackness cleared, Twila found herself sitting on a bar-stool in an off-white room, looking dead on at the lens of a camera. Subconsciously, Twila adjusted a tie with her hands. Or, to be more precise, Blueblood's hand. He gazed at the young woman fiddling with the large and cumbersome device._

_ "Are you nearly finished? I've been sitting here for almost five minutes," Twila said, her tenor voice pompous and demeaning._

Blueblood's voice, _she reminded herself frantically. This wasn't her. It couldn't be._

_ "A few more adjustments, Mr. Blueblood," the woman nervously said, biting her lip._

_ "Well, hurry up. I've little time to deal with incompetent mud-girls like yourself."_

_ The photographer clenched her fists, but said nothing, instead ducking her head behind the small cloth that obscured the back of the camera and raising a large blub overhead._

_ "And be sure to capture my chin. It's not often you see a man of breeding and culture such as myself exhibiting such a strong jawline."_

_ Twila heard the photographer mutter something under her breath. The lavender-haired scholar could guess what was said. Shortly after, the woman spoke up._

_ "Shooting in three. One... Two... Three."_

_ The white-hot light of the camera overtook her senses, blinding her. She groped futilely in the air, trying to regain some sense of control, her panic stopping her from even _considering_ to use magic to escape this madness. She felt something just brush her fingers and blindly lunged for it._

_000_

She found herself back in her own body and her own senses, clutching desperately against the door handle leading out into the hallway. Twila drew a shaky, nervous breath. She took a step towards the living room and felt her knees buckle briefly.

"What in the Sam Hill happened, sugar?" Jack quickly asked, putting a hand on Twila's shoulder and steadying the woman. "You've been standin' there fer a good half-minute."

"Nothing," the soul-folk lied in an attempt to reassure the woman."It's just sometimes with catalysts, you can get a flashback on a memory involving them. Give me a moment to collect my thoughts."

Twila had always heard about memory jumping, but had yet to experience one that... intense. It briefly felt like she had been ripped from her body and placed inside Blueblood's. Unlike with her doppelganger, though, she had lost all sense of her physical self. She put a hand to her forehead and wiped the sweet from her brow.

Dash and Jack exchanged looks on seeing how taxed Twila appeared.

"I-I'm fine," she lied once more. Perhaps when she was around some like-minded soul-folks, they could explain what she had just went through. "Just a bit winded. Let me do this next projection on the screen. It won't be quite as taxing compared to producing information in air."

The woman pointed her finger towards the large television screen. A brief lavender glow surrounded her finger as the TV sparked to life. The sound of static pierced the room's otherwise muted silence. Twila winced and made a pinching motion. The television lowered in volume, becoming nothing more than a dull background hiss.

She focused once more on the photograph and cautiously let her magic seep into it.

The static vanished from the screen, being replaced by a dimly lit room that stretched off into the distance. Twila, Jack and Isabelle shared a glance at one another.

"Hey, Twi... what's showin' up, that...?"

"Yes. It's his vision. He looks to be in a warehouse," Twila said, taking stock of everything she could regarding the room.

A solitary light hung overhead, showcasing a table to the man's left. From the few fleeting moments his view looked in that direction, the women could see that the table was all but overflowing in small bags, filled to near bursting with a blue liquid.

Dash's lips curled back in a snarl at seeing the object, but she said nothing.

To Alaurd's immediate right was a wide conveyer belt that was rotating at a modest pace; occasionally a wooden container loaded with small vials would roll by his sight. At the edge of the light's illumination, they could see a hatch that spat out the vials and a lever that Jack assumed was for controlling the machine. Blueblood looked up and sighed. He briefly glanced at the large ventilation system and brought his hands up to rub at his face.

"Man, this is disorientin'," Jack said.

"Shh," Dash ordered, soaking up everything she could about the place.

"Mr. Blueblood," a deep voice said, radiating indifference. The screen's vision whirled as the pompous man quickly did an about-face. His eyes flicked around, briefly showcasing the remainder of the room. A door marked 'Freezer storage' straight ahead, an unmarked door to his far right, and, lastly, a large green box with a gaping maw at the end of the conveyer system. From it, Jack could hear a faint mechanical crunching.

A muscle-bound man stepped from behind the machine. He appraised Blueblood over the rim of his expensive looking sunglasses and adjusted his almost too-small tie.

"So, Alaurd, do you need me to repeat what was asked of you?"

Blueblood didn't reply. He put a hand to his face. Jack instinctively recoiled at the sight of the appendage—it seemed to almost jump out of the television screen.

"I..." Blueblood trailed off. "I do, Dorado."

"Good." 'Dorado' sniffed and rubbed at his nose. Jack noticed he was bleeding from one nostril. "I suppose I should leave you to it, then." The muscular man turned and started to walk towards the unmarked door.

"Hey," Alaurd quietly said. The man stopped in his tracks. "D-do I have to?"

Dorado looked towards the young man with a smug smirk. What Dorado saw when looking at Blueblood made his expression quickly drop to a frown that was almost empathetic. He crossed his arms. "Sorry, kid. Yeah."

"B-but you could just tell him-"

"You know he's good at smelling bullshit. I gotta watch out for my own ass," Dorado countered. "If anything, you should be proud he's giving you a chance to prove yourself. I doubt he'd do the same for me." He gestured to the conveyer. "So show him you won't make another mistake."

The view on the screen changed as Blueblood hoisted himself up. He approached the conveyer and looked down the belt's path, seeming to study it intently. With a grunt, he hoisted himself onto the small metallic guard beside the belt. He quickly straddled his bare feet to either side of the conveyer.

"Wait, is he gonna...?" Jack trailed off as Blueblood stepped onto the moving platform. He was quickly jerked back and nearly dropped to a knee as the treadmill threw him off balance. Through a herculean effort, he rose and kept walking, struggling to make progress against the rotating platform.

He made it almost a quarter of the way to the conveyer's end when he stumbled. His bare foot caught one of the glass vials running along the belt. His weigh pressed into it and it shattered, coating his tender flesh in agony. He screamed—the three girls watching covered their ears from the volume—and collapsed onto his back. He looked behind him and saw how close the green maw was to his own head. The brief glimpse into it informed Jack that it was some form of industrial crusher. If the man got a leg in that, or worse, his head...

"Get offa there!" Jack called out, knowing that he couldn't hear her, but calling out regardless. "Why doesn't he jus' roll onta the floor?" she asked her companions.

Neither had an answer.

Blueblood stood up and took one step onto his injured leg. He whimpered as the glass shards dug deeper into his white skin, but managed two steps on the bleeding and tender leg before collapsing. He gave one desperate look to the floor beside him before resorting to crawling along the conveyer.

It wasn't enough. For every foot he gained to escape his fate, two more would bring him back. He glanced behind him and noticed his leg had entered the blackness he fought so hard to escape. He opened his mouth to scream as the dark abyss spouted mechanical teeth and-

Twila canceled the spell, rendering the television to mere static. She clutched her hand tightly to the side. "I'm sorry," she stated. "I-I couldn't watch that."

Jack sucked in a breath. "My God..."

The three women were speechless. All they could offer one another were shocked glances.

It was several minutes later when Dash spoke up. "I know it's not the best time, Twila, but were you focused on him long enough to get a sense of where he was at?"

The scholar shook her head. "Only that it was north... maybe an hour or so," she quietly said, before furrowing her brow. "Perhaps the business district of Middleburg?"

Isabelle put her hands behind her head and stared up towards the ceiling. "Was my guess too. You can't find warehouses like that in St. Charles, anyway. But that still leaves a problem. There's a _lot_ of buildings like that in Middleburg. We can't just barge into each one demanding answers..." She trailed off briefly before pausing. As quick as a bolt, she moved past her friends and stepped into the bedroom. Jack and Twila were just about to join her when they heard a satisfying "Ah-ha!"

Dash returned, triumphantly holding a Rolodex filled to bursting with cards.

"Hmm, I see," Twila said, putting a finger to her chin. "You believe Blueblood would have had business association with the man he was speaking with, ergo, this... 'Dorado' would be listed."

"Words right outta my mouth, bro." Dash nodded, tapping their new source of information with the back of her fingers. "And if Dorado's an alias, we saw enough of his ass to get an ID from photographs. Though I gotta wonder what he meant about a 'boss' when he was talking to Blueblood. You think this shit goes up past even him?"

"Perhaps. I wouldn't doubt it, anyway."

"Wait a damn minute here," Jack said. She stared at the athlete. "Yer not thinkin' 'bout turnin' this over ta the cops?!" She pointed at the screen. "We jus' saw a man die, in case ya forgot!"

"I know, hayseed. I was watching too." Dash scowled, tossing the Rolodex up and down in the air. "But with the cops comes questions. Some of which I don't wanna answer."

"Name one," Jack snapped back.

"'How did we find out about his murder?'" Isabelle retorted. "What would we tell 'em, 'Oh, we just broke into his bedroom, used a _vaguely_ legal tracer spell to find him and watched him die.' No big." She pointed a finger hard at the farmer. "I'm not getting in trouble for doing the right thing, bro. We're in too deep now to pull out."

"As much as I hate to say it, I agree." Twila chimed in, looking between the earth and sky folk. "It defeats the point if we simply roll over now. We'd have no answers, and if we tell the police the truth, we would quite possibly get expelled thanks to our actions tonight. It's better to at least _try_ to resolve this as far as we can, before resorting to the police—provided we don't risk our lives by doing something as absolutely ridiculous as engaging in an altercation with the murderer."

"Scout's honor, Twi. I don't plan on you getting hurt," Dash said.

"Shit, man." Jack finally said. She scratched her arm as she thought. Trying to find out who nearly killed Rarity on accident was one thing, but tracking down someone as twisted as what they just saw on the television? There was only one answer to a question like that. She heaved a sigh and met Isabelle's gaze. "I'm gonna regret this, but, yeah. I got yer back."


	8. A new day

The black evening sky threatened rain, Rarity noticed as she looked out her kitchen window. She reached over and took a delicate sip of tea before using magic to turn the page of a book she was reading in the faint candlelight. She absentmindedly pondered what could be holding Jack up.

_Maybe she forgot to visit after returning from her trip?_

The tailor shook her head and suppressed a yawn as she glanced at the clock hanging above the stove. If Rarity learned one thing about the farmerover the past week and a half, it was that Jack was the last woman in the world to break her word—the blonde was the definition of integrity. She wouldn't just forget about Rarity.

But if that was true... where _was_ she? Whatever Isabelle had in mind _couldn't_ have taken this long, could it?

_What if it's worse than that?_ her mind pondered, filling the beauty with dread. _What if something happened, and-_

Rarity shut that thought down dead in its tracks. She couldn't think that way. Jack trusted her, it was only fair that she trusted Jack.

Everything was fine.

After a few more minutes of internal debate, she rose as the clock struck two in the morning. With that she finished up what little chores she had left. Rarity put up her dishes, wiped off the table, then stepped into the hallway just as the familiar chime of her front door went off. Rarity turned, looking past the counter and preparing to give Jack a lecture about promptness.

The words died in her mouth.

The farmer looked like hell. She had a swollen eye and the posture of an old woman—hunched forward and nearly shriveled. Specks of blood decorated her shirt. Her left arm was bruised and her calloused hand was swollen—the fingers were blood sausages and her knuckles were cracked desert dunes. The worst wound, however, seemed to be her right arm. It hung limply to the side; an injury just below the shoulder bled through a makeshift bandage, leaving crimson lines that fell to the tips of her fingers.

Rarity felt faint. She put a hand to her forehead and nearly stumbled forward. What stopped her was Jack's visible eye.

The emerald orb, normally swimming with confidence and a stubborn will, was bloodshot and glazed.

Jack had been crying.

Rarity doubted it was from the farmer's wounds—while they were something anyone would weep from, her posture said different. They weren't the tears of a body being broken.

They were the tears of a heart snapped in two.

That alone gave the tailor the strength to resist collapsing to the ground in shock—she righted herself and quickly ran to the farmer.

"O-oh my... Jack." She stepped close to the woman and supported her by the side. Her mind was close to shutting down. She began to work on instinct. She moved Jack's good arm and placed it over her shoulders. Rarity then grabbed Jack by the waist. "Stay with me," she quietly said as the tanned woman seemed to sink.

It took almost an entire minute to make it back to the kitchen. Rarity's magic worked in a flurry of activity as soon as she put Jack's near-dead weight onto a chair. With frantic gestures and sweeps of her magic, a bottle of antiseptic and a cloth landed onto her table, a needle and thread began boiling in a pot of water nearby, a large roll of gauze appeared on the table, and her freezer opened and produced two small frozen steaks that popped down nearby.

Rarity moved her delicate hands over to Jack's makeshift bandage. As soon as she touched it, Jack hissed.

"Sorry, darling. I need to look at this," Rarity said. She undid the white cotton cloth—Jack hissed and flexed her left hand into a fist.

Rarity felt nauseous. There was a deep puncture wound, nearly the width of her thumb. Blood seeped out from it in a slow, lazy stream.

"Oh, o_h,_ how I was Chylene was here," Rarity stammered, biting her lip in disgust. She tilted the antiseptic onto a cloth and brought it slowly to Jack's injuries.

The farmer said nothing—she grit her teeth and her lips snarled back in a grimace as the antibiotic's burn ran its course.

"D-darling," Rarity started as she brought the steak to Jack's eye. Once she put it in place, she gave it a quick wrap of gauze to keep from falling. "What happened?"

For a long moment, Jack said nothing. She simply stared straight ahead, her view miles and miles away. Finally, "I can't talk 'bout it, Rare."

"Jack... please. Seeing you like this, treating your injuries. I believe I deserve to know," Rarity attempted to persuade, taking the other frozen steak and wrapping it secure on Jack's busted hand.

"You do deserve the truth, Rare. Ya do. I... I jus' can't," Jack moaned, her voice cracking.

"Why not?" she asked.

"'C-cause I don't want ya t-ta think I'm a _monster,_" the farmer said, scrunching her face tightly as she fought back bitter tears.

Rarity lightly ran a hand over the blonde's hair in an attempt to sooth the woman. "Jack, I-"

"-If I told ya what happened, y-yer gonna think that. I know it," the farmer adamantly said, meeting Rarity's gaze with her eye..

"Please, Jack. I won't. You have my word," Rarity swore. She called the needle and thread into her hands and gave an apologetic frown to Jack.

The tailor worked for a brief moment in silence, sewing a Jack's wound with the same precision she gave her finest silks. As she finished a few stitches, Jack spoke once more in a near whisper.

"Rare..." The farmer trailed off, as her eyes started to water again.

The tailor looked up briefly from her work—Jack couldn't even meet her gaze now. Instead, the tanned woman choked out three bitter, painful words.

"_I'm a murderer._"

000

Jack sat at her desk as she listened to the teacher drone on and on about a mathematical formula the farmer couldn't even pronounce, let alone use. She gave up on paying attention a moment later. With a roll of her eyes, she tipped her hat forward and leaned back in her chair, letting the sunlight from a nearby window warm her freckled face. She crossed her hands behind her head and felt the slow, sure grip of slumber approaching. A knock at the window caused her to snap awake; she twitched violently back to attention in her seat; the motion caused a woman with a lyre mark on her cheek to glance nervously over at Jack's sudden action. The farmer awkwardly mouthed an apology and glanced towards the window.

Dash waved at her from the other side; her ethereal wings were flapping at a slow and deliberate pace, just enough to keep her from a painful drop two stories. With a small frown, Jack stretched her arm and quietly opened the window from her seat while the teacher's back was turned. The athlete unceremoniously reached into the classroom and met Jack's palm. The rainbow haired girl dumped a small, folded piece of paper into Jack's hands and took off, flying away from the window as quick as she could. The farmer unwrapped the paper, revealing a short sloppy message:

_Jackie, meet me by the fountain after your classes. _

Under that:

_ I found him._

The Apple didn't have to think about who she meant. It had to be Dorado.

Jack had almost expected Isabelle to not turn up anything by now—it had been a good four days since they had found the Rolodex in Blueblood's room. She had thought that Isabelle might have turned the evidence over to the police—they had came yesterday and turned his room upside down looking for any sort of clue as to his whereabouts. But Jack soon realized Dash hadn't when they had left the school looking worn and defeated. The only thing they said during an assembly of the students was a short plea to contact the station if anyone had any information regarding his disappearance.

The farmer had wanted to come forth, but remembered Dash's warning on what could happen if any of them spoke. While Isabelle seemed only indifferent to the potential of expulsion, Twila was far more frightened of the concept, as was Jack. It wasn't like her family had the money for her to go to a different school if this one didn't work, after all. This was her only shot.

An hour later and the teacher dismissed class, breaking Jack from her brooding thoughts.

The farmer rose, intending to enjoy her lunch break before returning to class.

_What was it again?_ she briefly thought. _Aw hell. History._

The farmer groaned inwardly. She had a test today—one she hadn't studied for in the slightest. Maybe she could get some reading done during lunch...

"Nah," she said aloud. With an easy smile, Jack went outside, where she knew someone was waiting for her.

000

Rarity relaxed under the shade of a lonesome tree, engrossed in a book. The tailor adjusted the blanket she sat on top of and took a small bite out of a sandwich she had packed for lunch. As she turned the page with a thumb, a shadow fell over her light. She glanced back behind her and saw the easygoing, half-smug face of Jack towering above.

"Am I in yer light?" the farmer asked.

"Y-yes," Rarity quickly replied, coughing into her hand.

"I see."

The farmer stood perfectly still as Rarity's scowl deepened. Finally, after a long, drawn-out pause, Jack let a small snort of laughter pass by and she took a seat on Rarity's blanket.

"What ya readin'?"

"Ah. This is for my history class—it's about the first king of the Norfolk."

"Oh, uh, King... King Pyth, right?"

Rarity turned a page in her book, doing her best to hide her surprise. "Correct. I didn't believe history was your forte."

"It ain't. Iron Will jus' mentioned the King last time I saw him."

"How _is_ that going, by the way?"

The farmer gave it legitimate thought. "Better than my other classes," she said. "I at least seem ta impress him with footwork durin' our unarmed sparin'. Though I ain't been able ta land a hit on the big guy yet. We're startin' up weapons next week. I'm kinda lookin' forward ta that."

"W-weapons? Darling, that seems quite dangerous." Rarity gave a concerned look over the farmer. "Do you have protective gear?"

"Well, fer sparin' we got some pads an'-"

"I meant for the weapon training."

"Oh," Jack replied, rubbing under her nose with a finger. "Uh... I don't think so, nah. I reckon we'll jus' use our gloves an' a helmet like when we fight. Not to mention that it'll be practice weapons, so I'll jus' get banged up an' bruised."

"Such foolishness," Rarity said under her breath. In the back of her mind, she began drawing up something that might protect Jack a bit better. It wouldn't be much—after all, she was a tailor, not a miracle worker—but it'd at least be better than the unfashionable plaid the farmer wore now.

The two sat silently for a moment. Jack lay on her back, seemingly ready to nod off, and Rarity continued to read the book resting in her lap.

"Hey, Rare?"

"Mmm?" the tailor replied, in mid-bite. She chewed as fast as she could and swallowed. "What?"

"Ya know how Blueblood..." Jack trailed off. Rarity closed her book and shifted, intent on listening to the farmer. "Well... jus' got a note from Dash. She found that 'Dorado' guy we saw kill 'em."

"I assume Isabelle is going to contact the police now?" Rarity questioned, storing away the history book into a knapsack.

Jack swallowed. "Ain't sure," she admited.

Rarity's eyes looked sharply at the blonde. "What do you mean? I'm not correct in assuming that you..."

"Dunno. It might be possible that Dash wants ta get the guy herself."

"That's foolish!" Rarity objected with a wave of her hand. "Why risk it?!"

"Now jus' hold on. I ain't even sure what she's plannin' yet," Jack countered, pulling out the brief note Isabelle had written and holding it out to the tailor. Rarity used a flick of magic to create a small, contained breeze, blowing it gently it into her own delicate hands. She looked at the two terse sentences and scoffed.

"You cannot tell me that this doesn't suggest she intends to take matters into her own hands, darling. Not to mention that she seems intent on dragging you along too."

"Then I'll go," Jack said evenly, crossing her arms. "I said I had her back—ain't nothin' more important than my word, sugar." She lowered her tone, trying to keep from snapping at the beauty. "Ya know that."

"Stubborn mule," Rarity bitterly said under her breath. "Fine," she replied. "But I want you to promise me two things."

"Let's her 'em first," Jack said.

"You don't trust me to be fair?"

"That ain't it at all, Rare," Jack said, rubbing slowly at the back of her neck. "I jus' don't wanna... " She shook her head. "Ya know what? Fine. I trust ya."

The tailor leaned forward and grasped Jack's hand. "First. Don't do anything stupid. I know who I'm talking to, so I think that might be hard."

"H-hey-"

"The second," Rarity continued. "After you're done with... whatever Isabelle is suggesting, I want you to come see me. I don't care what the time is. I just want to make sure you're safe."

Jack looked over Rarity. After a beat, she nodded. "Sure, Rare. I'll do it fer ya." Another pause; the tall woman glanced up to the sky, debating on adding anything else. She decided to go for it. "So, uh, I was wonderin' if ya might be game fer a-another date sometime? Maybe go an' get a horse from the stables... explore 'round here," she mumbled, clenching and unclenching her hand.

Rarity smiled. "I'd like that. How about we plan a time when you return?"

"Works fer me," Jack agreed. She rose, her smile showing her obvious pleasure at the woman accepting her invitation. "Well. I reckon I need ta go an' do at least a little bit a readin' 'fore my next class. I'll catch ya later on, Rare."

"Be careful," Rarity insisted once more.

"I'll try my best."

000

Jack stumbled out of her history class feeling like a chump—she remembered absolutely _nothing_ of what the teacher spoke about for the past two sessions. As such, the earth-folk felt that she completely botched the test. The farmer rubbed at her temple as she headed out the front doors of the school. As she made her way through the crowds of students, she saw Dash sitting at the fountain's edge, flipping a pen around in her nimble fingers. As the tall woman got closer, the sky-folk nodded at Jack.

"About time, bro."

"Sorry," Jack replied. "Jus' got outta class."

The athlete pocketed the pen she was spinning and looked to the heavens. "You ready for this?"

"What's 'this?'"

Dash smirked. "I'll lay down the battle plan for you, hayseed. We're going to Middleburg in an hour."

"Yer not jus' thinkin' 'bout goin' right to the guy, are ya?"

"Not exactly." She leaned forward. "See, there's a reason it took me a few days to get back with you on this guy. Fella's a convict. Got in the slammer for running a Stairway group."

"Stairway?" Jack repeated.

"Yeah. Like the Zeppelin song."

"Still ain't got a damn clue what yer talkin' about."

Dash gave a shrug. "They're a pretty indie band. I guess you woul-"

"No, sugar. What the hell's 'Stairway?'"

The Ritter raised her brow. "You guys don't have it down south?"

"If we do, I ain't never heard it by that name."

Dash rubbed at the back of her neck. "Think cocaine's nasty and pissed off big-brother, hayseed. Stuff's crazy."

"An' we're goin' ta jus'... what, exactly?"

The athlete pulled out a small camera from her track suit. "Easy-peasy. The warehouse is pretty old—it has some of those man sized air ducts they built buildings with back fifty or so years ago. A few days back—you remember seeing any sorta liquid when Twila channeled Blueblood's vision, bro?"

The farmer thought long and hard, tilting her head back and crossing her tanned arms. It came back to her. "Y-yeah. On top of a table, right? Blue."

"Bingo." She nodded. "That shit you saw? Pure Stairway." She stared walking away from the fountain, towards the west side of the school. Jack complied, listening intently to Dash. "Anyway, here's what I'm getting at. All we need to do is get inside one of the ducts, crawl through, take a few shots of him and the drug." She snapped her fingers. "Bang. We make it look easy."

Jack gave a small, considering hum. "But what about Blueblood? Ain't like we can link this Dorado fella to a murder with jus' a few snapshots."

"We can't," Dash agreed, heading towards the stables. "But we'll at least be able to get him for Stairway. A second offense regarding that stuff should net him just as many years as a manslaughter charge. _Especially_ if I make sure my Uncle Wolfgang files the report. That's just as good, right?"

The two entered the stable. Dash briefly talked to a stable-hand while Jack spent a few minutes stroking one of the horses' snouts and trying not to think about what she was getting into.

The southerner wondered if Dash was right—if it was for the best that they just swept Blueblood's murder under the rug like Isabelle was saying they should. It wasn't like he was gonna get away scott-free—maybe it was the smart thing to do.

A part of her argued vehemently against that. It wasn't right to keep tight-lipped about the whole mess. Alaurd's family deserved to know what happened to the boy, as did the police that searched his place for answers the other day. Keeping them in the dark was one of the worst thing she could do.

Jack took a deep breath and glanced to the ceiling in morose thought.

It wasn't like admitting to everything that had happened was the best choice for any of them either. The risk of expulsion was a very likely outcome if any of them spoke up, not to mention the chance that the police could say that they were impeding their investigation. The farmer crossed her arms, uncrossed her arms, then started tapping her foot.

"You always so twitchy, bro?" Dash asked, approaching the stable Jack stood by with a saddle balanced on her wiry shoulders.

"Jus' when I'm thinkin'," the farmer replied.

"Meh, whatever. About ready to go?" she asked, giving the tall woman a slap on the back with her free hand. Dash unlatched the chest-high gate pinning the horse in and started to don a saddle on the beast.

Jack made up her mind; she looked hard at Isabelle. "We're findin' somethin' ta prove Dorado killed that boy while we're there."

Dash continued strapping the horse up. She wrinkled her nose in irritation. "Did you not hear me, hayseed? We don't have to worry about it. Throwing that to the cops'll just complicate things for us. Trust me, when the cops get him under for that second offense drug charge, they-"

"I don't care. It's the principle, _Dashie_. Even if Blueblood was an asshole, he's got a family—what would yer ma an' pa feel like if you vanished one day, an' they never heard from ya again?"

"Mom's dead. Doubt she'd feel anything." Before Jack could offer an apology, the Ritter finished strapping the horse. She gave a tug on the saddle and was satisfied at how snug it was. She heaved a sigh. "But my Dad..." Isabelle turned to face the farmer. "It'd eat at him until the day he died." She smirked, though the motion was far from humorous. "Fine, bro. It's a damn dumb idea, but you twisted my arm. There might still be _something_ in there that belongs to him." She pointed her finger in warning at Jack. "But we stick mostly to the plan still: We travel light, we travel quiet, and we get in, out, and around through the vents. We don't go anywhere someone might see us." Dash easily hoisted herself onto the horse. She took a few careful and guided steps forward before offering her hand to Jack. The farmer complied with a grunt, easily slinging her leg over the beast and sitting directly behind Isabelle.

With only a brief word and a hefty tip to the stable-hand, they were off, racing north at a brisk gallop.

000

Jack and Dash tied up the horse in a wooded area just on the outskirts of Middleburg. Dark clouds had gathered on the horizon, blocking the setting sun and illuminating the walled-off city in a bleak gloom.

The two wordlessly walked forward, Jack slowing down on occasion to marvel at the city.

It was a strange thing, a hodgepodge of old and new ideas. The whole town was lined with a wall about ten or fifteen feet tall, built during the days of the war between the three races. Dash decided to speak a bit about it, as she and Jack stepped foot on the bridge over the Samson river.

Middleburg started out as a sky-folk outpost—the flying race could easily clear the height of the wall, whereas an earth-folk would have a struggle against it. The wall and the peerless sky-folk sentries that prowled across the borders made it a fantastic defensive fort. Due to its location as a centralized town for sky-folk territory and the fertile land surrounding the bastion, it thrived into a successful open market, even more so when the conflicts ended and open trade was established between the races.

Nowadays, it was less of a market town and far more of a working-class town. Even as they walked towards the large gateway leading inside, Jack could see the high tin rooftops of the various factories and warehouses peaking out in greeting—a stark contrast to the humble stone wall surrounding the place.

Dash halted as they stood on the bridge. With a quick glance to make sure nobody was looking, she withdrew a small makeup kit.

"Open your shirt," Isabelle said, already selecting a color and dabbing a brush into it.

"Ya seriously askin' me that?" Jack replied, tipping her stetson back.

"Not what you think, hayseed. I'm giving you a sky-folk mark—just in case they're still doing check-ins on arrivals."

"What does that have ta-"

"Just follow my lead, bro." Dash rolled her eyes.

"Fine, fine. Damn," Jack grumbled, undoing a few buttons and turning to face the Ritter. The athlete immediately went to work on the tall woman, doodling a quick and simple sketch below the collarbone, then turning the brush on her own mark, painting it a dull brown. Finally, she used a dark flesh tone to hide the mark on Jack's hand.

"I'm no artist, but I did pretty good for a rush job," Isabelle boasted, looking over the farmer.

"I jus' don't see why yer makin' me pretend ta be a soul-folk," the blonde said.

"If it doesn't click to you in a bit, I'll explain," Dash reasoned, shutting the make-up kit and pocketing it. They started to walk once more, coming to a fully-armored guard stationed at the town's gate. He gave a nod to the women and withdrew a ledger from his side satchel.

"Hello ladies. I'll try to keep this short so I don't ruin your evening." He looked down at a column on his ledger. "Names?"

"Julie and Victoria Featherweight," Dash quickly said, interrupting Jack before the farmer could speak up.

"Your business in Middleburg?"

"It's our anniversary," Isabelle said, putting her arm around Jack's waist and shooting the farmer a glare that said _play along. _Dash looked kindly at the guard, and Jack did her best attempt at a sincere smile.

"Marks?" he questioned, hardly noticing their affections as he filled out the form on his ledger.

"Both sky-folk." Dash pulled down her neckline, revealing a black leather book design just below her collarbone. Jack followed the athlete's example and undid the top two buttons of her shirt, showcasing a small horse in mid gallop just above the beginnings of the farmer's expansive cleavage.

He noted their marks—his eyes looking over Jack for just a hair longer than necessary.

The guard cleared his throat. "Any weapons you wish to proclaim?"

"Knife in my front pocket." Isabelle stretched her arms over her head. "Nothing else."

"Nah," Jack said, buttoning up her shirt.

He jotted down a few more notes. "Ok, ladies." He gave a nod of his head towards the town's entrance. "You're good to go since you don't have any bags. Thanks, and happy anniversary."

The farmer walked along with Isabelle. When they were out of the guard's hearing range, Jack shook her head incredulously. "So, what the hell was that?"

"Checkpoint. This town started doing 'em at the gates a few years back-"

"I swear, ya do that ta me one more time today..." Jack threatened.

Dash smirked, putting her hands up. "Couldn't resist. Anyway, reason I said that shit to the guy is because I'm not sure if he's in pocket."

"Pocket?" the farmer repeated.

"Yeah. Like if he's been bought or something. The smugglers around here have their fingers in quite a few pies. I didn't want to use our real names in case this goes to hell. If something happens that I hadn't thought of, well..." she ran a hand through her rainbow-hued hair. "_You'd_ at least have a chance to get out without any problem." Dash laughed. "I'm a bit too awesome to forget, though."

The conversation dried up as they walked through the sea of people going about their daily lives. They ducked down a few side roads to escape the townsfolk and soon came to a park, teeming with a few brave children still battling against the approaching nighttime. Dash gave them a warm smile as she and Jack walked the edges of the park.

"Like kids?"

Isabelle snapped up, seeming surprised at Jack's sudden question. "They're alright enough, hayseed." The Ritter gave a disinterested shrug.

The two meandered past the park's edge and turned down the road to a far more industrial segment of town. Warehouses lined the nearly empty street, each one taller and more expansive than the last. Isabelle walked for about another five minutes when she ducked right, entering another alleyway. She pointed straight ahead, where a large, two story warehouse greeted their sights.

"Here we are," Dash announced. She gave a small twitch of her brow and focused her power. In a heartbeat, her golden, translucent wings appeared on her shoulders. The athlete gave them an experimental flap, then extended her hand towards the farmer. "Ventilation shaft's on the roof. Let's go, bro."

Jack took the woman's hand and let out an involuntary gasp when her feet left the sturdy ground behind.

The sky-folk rose to the heavens and guided herself with precision and accuracy, bringing the two down easily on the rooftop.

The area was threadbare—there was a doorway that presumably lead downstairs straight ahead and a large waist-high steel box to their right. The two had similar ideas, both choosing to investigate the metallic box.

It was a ventilation system—a large fan about the width of Isabelle's shoulders rotated hot air from inside and blew it upward.

"Guess we need ta shut off the fan." Jack examined the area around the large box and noticed a set of cables running from a corner and down into the floor. "Runnin' by some sorta electricity, I'm guessin'." The farmer put a hand to her chin in thought.

"Electric with a magical enchantment at either end to promote circulation," Dash agreed. "Guess our best bet is to find something insulated and-"

Jack reached down and yanked the cables free from the system. Sparks showered the area; the farmer gave a shrug and chucked them to the side as Isabelle stared in opened mouth surprise.

The farmer continued to work as she waited for the fan's rotation to die down. She grabbed the metal grating on top of the fan and started straining against it. She grit her teeth, sucked in a breath, and gave one powerful fling upwards with her arms. The cover snapped off like a cheap toy, leaving nothing but jagged metal shards at points where it had been screwed in. Jack tossed the grating to the side and watched the fan do a few more slow, lethargic rotations. Finally it stopped. Jack bent down and started working on the fan, grunting and straining in an attempt to pry it free. Dash finally had enough sense to speak again.

"Shit, dude, you can do some damage. I'd hate to be locked up in a room with you."

"Shut up an' help me with this damn thing, would ya?" the farmer grunted, working up a sweat as she tried to find a good position to hoist the fan and its inner workings up.

It took them a few minutes, but they finally were able to pull the fan and its mechanical guts out of the vent system. Jack took a breather once they got the device free, the farmer wearily slumping down to rest. She undid a button on her shirt and waved her hat in front of her face in an attempt to cool down.

"So, ya know what ta do after we get inside?" Jack panted out.

Dash wiped the sweat free from her brow and reached into her track suit pocket, withdrawing a piece of paper with a few lines, circles, and notes the farmer couldn't see from where she was sitting.

"Yeah, bro. Follow my lead when we're ready—we gotta get down to the first floor from this shaft, and I know just where to find it."

She gestured for Isabelle to press on ahead. The athlete did so without any complaints. She went through the opening that they had created and dropped a good three or four feet down, then, after her eyes had adjusted to the gloom, glanced down the narrow and compact space. Isabelle crouched down to her hands and feet and began to briskly scout ahead. Jack followed suit, making the drop and going to her own hands and knees. She blindly crawled forward, only to crack her head straight against the lower ceiling of the air duct.

She swore under her breath and rubbed her forehead, cursing her height. Not wanting to experience that again, the farmer went completely prone, dropping down and slowly going through the system by nothing but her forearms.

They traveled around corners, down slopes and over gratings for what felt like years to Jack; every inch they gained was starting to wear on her. Her breasts were sore, her arms and still tender shoulder ached, and her scalp twitched with pain due to running over her own ponytail with her arms multiple times.

The farmer was flooded with relief and apprehension when Dash stopped and gave a small glance behind. The athlete raised her finger to her mouth. Jack nodded. Isabelle crawled just a bit farther and looked out a grating to her right. Jack did her best to squeeze in a look herself.

They were directly above the long conveyer belt where Blueblood lost his life mere days ago. Jack shivered despite herself. Below them, a group of six men seemed to be talking in muted whispers around a table with dozens of small bags filled to near-bursting with a thick and syrupy blue liquid.

Isabelle reached into her pocket and took a picture. She then nudged Jack's shoulder. "Bro," the sky-folk mouthed, pointing to a man at the far left looking over the conveyer.

It didn't take the farmer any time at all to realize who the man was. The scar on his face told her everything she needed to know.

"Dorado," Jack said.

Isabelle started to crawl forward. Above them, each heard a metallic groan come from the support cables holding the vent system up. The two paused, sharing a frantic glance. After a beat, the duct was silent once more. Below them, the men hadn't even moved from their spots around the table.

Both exhaled in relief.

"What do we do now?" Jack asked as quietly as she could. Isabelle stretched back behind her as much as she could in the cramped quarters and handed the tall woman a hastily drawn map of the vent system. Dash thought briefly and made a few gestures with her finger, then spoke once more.

"It's gonna suck, but we're going to backpedal and take a left, then a right, then straight ahead for two turns, then a left." She pointed out into the far right corner. "It'll lead to that unmarked door Blueblood saw before..." the Ritter trailed off. "A-anyway. I think it's an office. If we're gonna find ourselves anything the guy might have kept when Alaurd bit the dust, I think it'd be in there."

"Let's go," Jack said, scooting back as quickly as she could in the cramped corridors.

"Be there in a sec. I need a shot of Dorado," Isabelle replied, pressing on ahead.

The farmer shrugged, then started slowly backing her body up. The metallic groan above them increased in volume and the entire duct shook.

"Get outta there!" Jack cried out. The duct up ahead pitched forward and fell with a shudder and squeal of metal—Isabelle yelped, spun around, and tried to claw her way back, but it was too late. She fell, trapped inside a metal cocoon, and landed hard on the floor.

Dash weakly crawled out of the metal and struggled to rise, only to be kicked to the ground by one of the men that had been near the table. She gasped, clutching her ribs in pain. Jack watched on in horror as the entire group of men withdrew small, wrist-mounted crossbows and aimed them directly at the girl. Dorado approached Isabelle and squatted down in front of her.

"Looks like we have a little bird dropping in for a visit," he said, smiling without humor.

"What can I say?" Dash asked, giving a small, slow shrug. "I just figured I'd stop in for a drink—was in the area, after all."

"You've come to the wrong warehouse, girl," one of the lackeys snarled, kicking her once more. She snarled, curling up into a ball and clutching her ribs.

"Lift her up," Dorado ordered with a snap of his fingers. Two of them hoisted the girl up, taking care to hold onto her arms. The scarred man leaned in close and spoke in a whisper Jack could barely overhear. "Wait... I know you."

"You should," Dash said, glaring spitefully at the man. "I was with my Uncle Wolfgang when he locked you up last time. Figured I'd keep with the family tradition."

Recognition dawned on him. "A Ritter, huh?" he laughed under his breath. "Your parents? One's Desmond. Mom was Maria, right?"

The athlete said nothing, instead staring defiantly at the man. Dorado smirked, briefly looking over to the bags lining the table behind him.

"Yeah. Maria really liked the stuff, didn't she? Woman snuck around her husband's back and gobbled that shit _up_." His expression turned into a false frown. "In fact. I heard she liked it too much, didn't she? Overdosing on Stairway? It's a bad death. Shame she didn't have self-control."

Isabelle lunged for the man, but was held in place by the group of thugs holding her arms. He laughed.

"Man. Kids these days. Full of spunk and not a damn idea floating around in their brain." He gestured to the conveyer belt. "Toss her on. Tango, get the barrier up. Let's take some bets on how long the girl can run."

The thuggish men tossed her onto the stationary belt, just as another shorter and plumper man made two quick gestures with his hand. Isabelle regained her footing and tried to rise off the track, only to seemingly crack her head against an invisible object a few inches taller than her height. She moved a hand forward, only to be stopped by another unseeable wall. She beat against it, swearing loudly at anyone and everyone listening. A man moved under Jack's field of vision—she heard a heavy 'ka-chunk,' then the belt started moving. Slowly at first, then gaining a rapid tempo. Isabelle did the only thing she could do—she ran, trying her best to gain even an inch ahead of the thrashing teeth waiting for her at the end of the line.

Jack was frozen, paralyzed. There was no way she could drop down like Dash just did. They'd shoot her dead in seconds. She wiped at her mouth. Swore. Wiped at her mouth again, then made a call.

As quickly as she could, she backed up and went left, down the air duct. She crawled forward on her stomach as fast as she could—she didn't care how much noise she was making, Jack knew that she had to get down there as soon or her friend was as good as dead.

She navigated the labyrinth of tunnels quickly and effectively, chanting Isabelle's earlier directions under her breath like it was a mantra. At the end of Dash's directions, the farmer came to a grating below her. Jack quickly peeked through it and noted she was right above a large desk and comfortable looking leather chair. The tall woman barely registered the room as she gave the grating a blow with her hand. It fell and landed on the desk with a loud clatter. Jack dropped down and moved to the single exit the room had. She pressed an ear against a wooden door. On hearing no approaching footsteps, she crouched down and slowly turned the knob.

"Christ," the farmer said to herself, not sure if it was a prayer for help or an expletive.

About fifty feet away, across the nearly empty stretch of concrete, were seven men standing beside the fast-moving belt. Each one was watching with growing interest as Isabelle ran in a dead sprint against the conveyer, leaping over debris like she was clearing hurdles at a track. Sweat ran in rivets down her toned body; she gasped for air and struggled against the speed of the belt. Dash would collapse in moments if Jack didn't act now.

_Soul-folk,_ she thought._ Gotta get that barrier down._

The farmer crouched down as low as she could and carefully moved towards the group of people at a brisk gait. When she hit about twelve feet away from the group, she spotted a short and plump man with a mark on his cheek at her far left. Jack broke any trace of stealth she had, sprinting forward with a yell. Before he could even turn around, she slammed her foot into the back of his knees, dropping him to a kneeling position. Jack threw his head forward, connecting it against the barrier holding Dash captured. A small trail of blood seemed to levitate in the air for a brief moment before the spell died, causing the liquid to drip onto the concrete floor.

The remaining six men reacted—the two nearest to Jack aimed their crossbow bolts and fired. Jack was running on instinct-the constant sparring matches with her brother fueling her moves. She twisted, narrowly dodging the shots aimed at her face. She moved one step closer and reached out with both her hands, grabbing a skull in each. With a quick motion, the giant of a woman brought them together, creating a clacking noise that reminded Jack of two pool balls hitting. They instantly collapsed onto the floor, groaning in agony at their pain.

One of the remaining four swore—his wrist mounted crossbow seemed to have broke. Two more raised their weapons, getting a bead on her. The last one quickly shot from the hip. The bolt was a near-miss; Jack dodged it merely by luck as she shifted sideways once more to assume a fighting stance.

Once Isabelle realized she was freed from the prison, she conjured her wings and quickly moved towards the others preparing to fire their weapons. One turned to face her—she struck with a right cross so potent he stumbled forward, punch-drunk. She took her chance, spinning him around and grabbing him from behind. She guided his wrist mounted weapon toward his friend's leg and fired. The other man cried out in agony, clutching at the wound as he fell to the floor. She shot from the hip—lucking out and striking the other thug in his shoulder and leg.

Dorado watched the entire scene, amazed at the sudden change of events. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small vial, then thought better of it and ran towards a door marked 'Freezer Storage.' Dash took aim and fired, only to hear a dry clicking noise from the crossbow.

"I'm out!" Isabelle called. The farmer caught sight of Dorado frantically mashing buttons on a keypad next to the door.

"Get these guys taken care of, I'll get Dorado," Jack ordered, sprinting towards the man. With a triumphant cry, he flung the door open and ran inside. Jack got there just as the door began to glide closed—she twisted to the side and ran into the room.

The place was lined with the skinned bodies of cows and pigs hanging from meat hooks. Jack crept forward through the gritty and bloodstained room, her eyes desperately scanning past the line of corpses.

Before she could even react, he burst through one of the lines of beef, rearing back and swinging a hefty looking meat-hook. It punctured her right arm and embedded deep—Jack howled and gripped the weapon with her good hand in an attempt to stop it from digging into her any farther. Dorado swung his free hand and struck Jack hard, hitting her square at the eye.

Jack used every ounce of strength from her impressive physique to push the hook free from her flesh and hop back. She panted for breath; her mind felt scrambled. Broken. Her eye had already swollen shut and her arm dangled to the side. She tried to clench her right hand into a fist and hissed at the agony that shot throughout her.

"Dumb bitch," Dorado swore, blood running easily down his nostril. He tossed a small, empty vial to the side. It clattered on the floor, rolling lazily to a stop. "You're dead. You hear me?! Dead!" he roared, charging forward. He swung, bringing the hook horizontally with his right.

Jack felt something tighten around her heart. An emotion she had only experienced a handful of times in her life.

Was it fear?

No. It was anger. An anger so pure, so primal, she became a thrall for it.

Her good eye narrowed just as her hand clenched tight—so tight her nails cut into her deeply calloused hands. Rather than dodge the blow, she stepped into it, catching the meat-hook at its handle. With a twist of the weapon, it tore free of the man's hand, snapping his wrist and sending the weapon clattering to the floor. Jack swung, cracking him as hard as she could at the throat.

Normal people would have fallen. People on Stairway though? He shrugged it off, instead slamming one of his fists directly into her gut. She stumbled backwards, coughing hard. Adrenaline pounded in her temples, her skin was sleek with sweat, and her hand quivered in barely repressed rage. She recovered from the blow and charged him once more.

He swung a jab at her—she countered by dodging towards his chest and wrapping her arm around his elbow. With one twist of her back, she heard the tell-tale sound of bone breaking.

She didn't stop there.

She leapt, pouncing on him like a feral beast, knocking him onto his back. Without hesitation, before he could even react, she drove and dug her knees into his shoulders; she started smashing his face in with her good hand, screaming unintelligibly all the while. She struck him until her fingers were numb and cut from his teeth, until his nose ran crimson rivers out of each nostril, until his eyes were puffed and swollen like two pairs of balloons. Until his blood splattered and soaked into her shirt.

Until he stopped twitching under her.

Even then, she kept striking him with her hand. It wasn't until she let air go down her ragged windpipe and quell her own screaming that she paused, looking over his ruined and desecrated face. Instantly, she felt bile rise up in her throat—she threw herself off of him and ran to a wall. After she had cleared that out of her system, she could finally pay a bit more attention to her surroundings. Namely, the knocking she was hearing from the door.

"Jack?! Dammit, hayseed, answer me! Are you ok in there?!" Isabelle called from the other side, beating furiously against the door.

The farmer moved from the wall and took one last look at the corpse she had made. As calmly as she could, Jack headed back and numbly opened the door. Dash had her fists clenched tightly and ready to strike. On seeing it was the farmer, her position relaxed.

"Son of a bitch. You scared me. Don't run off like that, I thought you-" she noticed the farmer's arm. "Damn. He got you good. How's it feel?"

Jack said nothing. She opened her mouth, shut it, opened it again. "D-Dash..." she weakly trailed off.

"Talk to me, bro." Isabelle unzipped her track suit, wincing at the cold. With a few careful twists, she tore a line of fabric free from her white undershirt, exposing her toned midriff. She quickly wrapped the cloth around Jack's puncture wound and tied it off. Once that was done, she looked hard at Jack's troubled face. The Ritter could make a guess as to what happened—she hoped she was wrong, but...

"Where's Dorado?" she bluntly asked.

Jack pointed a trembling finger deeper into the room. The athlete took a few steps forward and made her way past dozens of beef slabs until she finally came across him. Or, rather, what was left of him. If Dash hadn't seen the man earlier, she wouldn't have even been able to identify the pulpy remains of his face. Isabelle shook her head, bit back her disgust, and returned to Jack. The blond still stood by the doorway, morosely holding a hand over her mouth.

"Man..." Isabelle said. "How did it happen?"

"I dunno," Jack choked out. "He t-tried ta kill me an'-an' somethin jus'... _snapped_."

"Looks like you did more than just 'snap,' bro. You turned his damn face into porridge."

The farmer let out a quiet, suffering moan. Isabelle blanched slightly.

"Shit. Sorry. T-that came out wrong." Dash walked over and put a comforting hand on Jack's back. "Look, man... do you realize what he woulda done to you if you _hadn't_ killed him?" She stared into the farmer's good eye—the other was swelling, Dash doubted Jack could see anything from it right now. "Look at your arm." The farmer did, staring hard at the makeshift bandage slowly turning crimson. "You see that, man? I know you're feeling it. Think about what would of happened if he hit you with whatever caused that on your head instead." Dash practically rammed her finger into Jack's heart, driving her words home. "Don't think bad about yourself. You've just been dealt a shitty hand. You did what you had to do."

"That's not, I mean... God," Jack stammered, sniffing. "The fact I jus' lost it. I-"

"You're a good woman. Doing something like..." She tilted her head towards Dorado. "You know. It was just your instincts taking over. Deep down, _everyone's_ got a beast in the shadows, yeah?"

The farmer wiped at the tears threatening to free themselves from her good eye. After a moment, she swallowed. "What do we do now?"

Dash sighed, shuffling her feet in an attempt to keep herself warm. "We turn his goons in to the cops. I make sure they don't say anything about their missing boss. As for the man of the hour..." She scowled, obviously hating what she was about to suggest. "I know a few ways to get rid of a body. Just let me-"

"No."

Isabelle looked hard at the farmer.

"No," Jack repeated. "I can't jus'... white-wash away somethin' like that. We gotta get in touch with the police an' tell 'em what happened—what I did."

Dash's jaw nearly dropped. "Are you friggin' stupid?"

The farmer adjusted her weather beaten hat and slowly nodded. "I am. But I'm smart enough ta make sure things I do wrong get set right."

"How the hell is this 'right?'" Isabelle gestured forcefully towards where Dorado's body lay. "You're willing to screw up your future for defending yourself against a piece of _shit _Stairway dealer? No. I'll say it again, since you apparently didn't let it soak in through your damn soft skull: you did what you had to—nothing more, nothing less."

"He was still a person, Izzy," Jack sniffed.

"I don't care!" Dash snapped back. "You're not going down for something I messed up on! I'll take care of what needs done here. Make your way back to St. Charles."

"But-"

"_Go!_" Isabelle roared, moving to the door. She opened it and gestured out into the warehouse. "You get your ass back to town."

The farmer was then grabbed and rudely tossed out by the shorter woman. Before Jack could regain her footing and turn, Isabelle had already shut the door behind her.

"Damn it, Dash," Jack sniffed. The farmer clenched her bruised and cracked fingers tight and left without another word.

000

"...I lucked out, when it's all said an' done. I cleared the wall 'round Middleburg, swam the river, an' made it ta the horse without anyone spottin' me. 'Least, I don't _think_ nobody spotted me." Jack rubbed the bridge of her nose. She smiled a weak, bitter smile that lasted only seconds on her face. "Why did this have ta go ta hell so fast? Earlier today, I was jus' fine... now..." she struggled, trying her best not to cry again. God knows she had done that enough in the past few hours.

"Jack... I agree with Isabelle." Rarity put her hands up to Jack's face. "This isn't your fault. Y-you're not a monster. You're a beautiful, kind, and honest woman. You're _not_ a murderer, Jack Apple. You had to do something in a bad situation. That's all." Rarity leaned forward, moving past the frozen steak and kissed the sitting woman on the forehead. "You're staying here tonight." Rarity instructed, her hands still tenderly holding Jack's cheeks. "And I'm going to do whatever I can in my power to help you, Jack. If you need to talk, we'll talk. If you need to drink, we'll drink. If—"

The words were knocked out of her mouth as Jack stood, reached forward and wrapped her powerful arms around the violet-haired woman's frame. The farmer wept openly—Rarity paused for only a moment, then returned Jack's iron grip, wordlessly reaching up and rubbing her hand along the tall woman's shoulders and back, whispering comforts. Outside, the clouds that had threatened rain finally came forth, deluging the land in a torrent of water.

Together, they weathered Jack's storm.


	9. Wolfgang Ritter

The old man walked down the nearly empty streets of Middleburg, clutching his coat tightly against his chest. On normal nights like this, he'd either be inside his humble home writing poetry by fireside while the rain gave sweet, butterfly kisses to his roof, or he'd be at the station, mulling and lost in the memories of his homeland of Germany. Though he hadn't set foot on his island country in over a decade, the nights that threatened rain would always take him to his youth, when he would watch the thunderclouds gather in the distant hills and plains with his father, the world-renowned detective, Arthur Conan Ritter.

He had fond memories of these days—it explained the Mark on his chest quite well—a dark cloud with a line of silver surrounding it. Not that it was seen often, as wont as he was to wearing heavy coats and sweatshirts. His age had made the cold pierce his flesh and chill the bone. Though, granted, he was always adverse to the cold, unlike his brother Desmond.

The brief flicker of thought regarding Desmond brought him back to the present—back to why he was outside when the heavens threatened a storm. His brother's child, Isabelle, had called him just as he was about to leave the police station and travel homeward bound. She said it was urgent, and to meet her nearby one of the side-streets.

He, of course, had humored her. Though the trivial things young women thought of as problems didn't always amount to much. At least, that's how it seemed in the old land—Cabella was keen on throwing his ideas out the window on a routine basis. Had been ever since he had followed his younger brother to the 'New World,' all those years ago.

The old man continued walking the streets, glancing at the warehouses and mentally noting who they belonged to. While the town was rife with crime and extortion, a lot of it never reached his desk. Some because it was never reported. The rest was because of his area of expertise—most traditional cases fell out of his range of skills. While he followed the generations-long chain of detectives in the Ritter line, he was _far_ more focused on investigating occult cases and bizarre murders. In fact, one of his brightest moments was defending the small, sleepy hamlet of Rheinsburg against a marauding pack of unholy beasts called _Aufhockers. _The devils had the entire town drowning in fear by the time Wolfgang had arrived to assist them, due to their elusive nature and violent tendencies.

It had taken him no time to identify the shape-shifters as the culprits; after all, they followed similar guidelines to traditional feral vampires in their thirst for blood and need for nighttime in order to function. What confirmed the murders involving _Aufhockers_, rather than their more traditional cousin, was that every victim had bruises and scrapes as if they were grabbed behind and pounced on, before having their throats torn out.

Wolfgang shook his head with a sly grin. He never thought vampires could be _civilized_ in comparison to another beast.

He was able to banish them that very night, with the help of the local priest, a woman willing to be bait, and a lot of iodized salt. While they couldn't do anything to kill the spirits, a ring of salt on the ground around the nightmarish shadow-creatures paralyzed them almost as potently as words from a Bible or holy water. They had simply kept the process going until the first rays of sunlight banished the spirits from the German lands. It was a shame Wolfgang couldn't finish the job and destroy their actual bodies, but that would have been a challenge even the great Ritter line wouldn't take. The _Aufhocker's_ physical bodies, after all, were in the blasted, cratered, and ungodly lands of the Sealed Rim, and there was no fool great enough to travel there.

The old man saw in the distance a lithe figure leaning against a building. Her legs were crossed and she occasionally glanced down the alleyway she stood at the entrance of. One look at her rainbow-hued hair told Wolfgang who it was. He approached her with a nod.

"_Guten abend, k__leiner regenbogen_," he said. Isabelle paused, letting the words sink in. She thought briefly and let a small smirk cross her worried face.

"_Guten abend, Onkel_." She squeezed her eyes tight in thought. "Uh... _wie geht es dir_?"

"_Es geht_." Wolfgang shrugged. His shoulder's ached and the weather was turning poor. So-so was as good as it would get today. "_Du_?"

"_Es geht mir schlecht,_" she quickly said. "_Es... es..._" The woman scrunched her face and finally sighed. "Sorry. Guess I lose."

"Nobody keeps you taught in our father's tongue it seems," the old man stated, partly in jest.

"Nobody speaks German anymore, Wolfy-" she saw his raised brow. "Er, Uncle Wolfgang."

"Nobody speaks _anything_ much, save for this land's tongue now."

"Kinda happens when everyone wants to come here, I guess."

"'_The land of milk and honey._' There are a few people that actually _call_ Cabella that." He gave his hand a quick rub—the joints were aching from the cold. "Between this land and Macon, I fear my Germany offers very little the other two cannot provide."

"Things change," Isabelle casually replied. Wolfgang couldn't help but snort at her blunt answer. She truly was her father's daughter.

"Maybe some day you'll understand my nostalgic view, yes? Perhaps when Cabella changes itself, or when the island nations unify." He dismissed the conversation with a wave of his hand. "Enough of thinking about what cannot be changed. I was wondering what your urgency was."

Any trace of her earlier good mood at seeing the man vanished when he decided to start on business. "To make a long story short. I, uh, found a Stairway operation out in the open."

Wolfgang offered a surprised glance toward his niece. "Are you sure of this?"

"There are bags filled with the shi—er, stuff—still inside the warehouse."

"Take me there, _k__leiner regenbogen._"

000

Wolfgang cautiously stepped into the warehouse, his weary body crouched low. The old man automaticly fumbled for his side holster, pulling out a wicked stiletto. He worked the blade's grip, clutching it tightly in his hand as he steadied his resolve. He glanced over to his niece, only to see her in an indifferent pose.

"I cleared out the place," she explained, putting her hands in her jacket pockets. Wolfgang visibly relaxed, rising and holstering his weapon.

"You could tell me as such next time."

"You were already like that before I could say anything br—Uncle."

They pressed forward, past a receptionist's room. "By cleared out, do you mean...?"

"All tied up with some rope I found. Couple have crossbow bolt wounds—nothing life threatening."

"As much as I expected from your father's child."

"There was one little... uh... problem," she said, looking up to the ceiling and scratching her nose. Wolfgang said nothing, letting her talk. "I had some problems with their leader."

"Problems?" he repeated as they entered the double doors leading to the main room, where several men sat in various stages of agony. Each was tied up and gagged with a strip of white cloth. One seemed to be nursing a broken nose. He leaned against a shaft of an air duct. Wolfgang glanced up and noted a segment was gone from the system that worked its way on the ceiling.

Dash exhaled as they came to a door marked 'Freezer Storage.'

"Yeah. He got violent, so I had to..." she moved to the door and opened it up, kicking a piece of wood she was prying it open with to the side. "You know."

"You killed this man?" Wolfgang asked, stepping inside the cold room. He exhaled, watching his breath turn to vapor and swore inwardly as the chill caused him to tighten his coat.

"Yeah. I was wondering what we should do about it."

The old man observed his dear niece. "You seem less distraught that I would expect. Was this not your first?"

"N-no, it was," she quickly said. "Just must be shock."

"Hmm. Well. I presume he's in here?"

"Yes, Uncle."

"And you did not touch anything?"

"Of course not, br—Wolfgang." Dash rubbed her arms.

"Wait here. I would want to look over the body." He pushed on through the cold room. It wasn't long before he came to the cadaver. Man had his skull caved in from multiple blows. The detective bunched up a fist and slowly came down towards the corpse's face.

Blows were consistent with a clenched fist—accounting for a difference in angle from the murder, he guessed the attacker had sat or knelt on the guy's chest.

Wolfgang rolled up the corpse's sleeves and found exactly what he was looking for.

Black veins. From experience in this town, Wolfgang knew the unsightly things would run all the way to the guy's heart. Stairway was a hell of a drug.

The detective noticed the man's shoulder was broken. What drew his attention more, however, was the fact his wrist was snapped, seemingly mangled and twisted by a great force. Did he have a weapon to start off with?

He rose and did his best to ignore his joints popping. Wolfgang didn't have all the answers as to what happened, but he had enough to figure something out.

Isabelle was lying to him.

He marched back to the woman and did his best to appear like he bought it. "Just a few questions for you, _kleiner regenbogen._"

"Ask away." Dash nodded.

"Who was with you?"

The athlete froze. "No one," she stammered out.

"Do not lie to me." He pointed deeper into the freezer room. "You couldn't have done that."

"Of course I did!" the woman argued. "I chased him into here, he got violent, and I knocked him down and started kicking his face in."

Wolfgang stared hard at Isabelle. "I'm going to show you every single way you just lied to me. Then I'm going to expect the truth. Let's begin." He put a finger up. "One. It was punches that killed the man, not kicks."

"That's an expression, br—Uncle. I-"

"Punches from the left hand. Punches that, judging by the angle, come from someone at least six-foot one." He held out a hand a few inches higher than the top of his head and brought the hand forward, where it stood far taller than Isabelle. "Unless you know how to grow nearly a foot, it wasn't you."

"I-"

"-Furthermore," he continued, starting to pace. "You lack the upper body strength to do something like that to a face. The perpetrator had enough power to break the skull. I would assume that it is either an unusually strong earth-folk or a soul-folk that enhanced their body through magic."

"You-"

"-Lastly, the man was on Stairway. This relates to my earlier comment, but I'll spell it out for you, yes? Even with a large amount of leverage, that man's muscles would have been working at nearly full capacity. You wouldn't have had the strength to knock him prone." He pointed furiously at Isabelle. "You didn't kill this man. Who did, and why are you covering them?"

"I'm not covering shit!" Dash exclaimed, running a hand through her multi-hued hair. Wolfgang moved to the door and opened it.

"Lie to me once more and I leave. The rest of Middleburg's police would be more than happy to just have a name to the crime—it seems to be your want, after all. If you wish for my help, speak the truth. My brother would be shamed to see his flesh lying to another of his blood!"

"Leave my Dad out of this," Isabelle said crossly. "I know he'd do the same damn thing, if the situation called for it."

Wolfgang relaxed his hold on the door, letting it swing slightly more closed. "I'll judge that. What was your situation?"

The woman stood, putting her hand up to her chin in indecision. The older of the Ritters looked on. Finally, Dash put two fingers under her eyes, steeling herself against a headache.

"This doesn't leave the room."

"If I consider your excuse viable, of course," he agreed, shutting the door. He crossed his arms and rubbed at his covered shoulders in an attempt to get warm.

"You were right. I didn't kill him," Isabelle admitted. "It was a woman—my friend, Jack Apple."

Wolfgang kept silent, eager to hear what Dash was going to say.

"She saved my life back in there. You saw the duct, right?"

"Hard to miss what is so obvious," he agreed.

"Well, I was in it. She risked her life to take out those guys in order to save me. Dorado," she gave a tilt of her head towards the body in the room. "Tried to escape into here. I'm not sure if there was an exit I didn't find when I looked the place over, or what, but-"

"He probably came into here to indulge on Stairway," Wolfgang said. "They make the liquid, freeze it, then shatter the crystal it forms into powder in order to sniff it." He gestured to the lines of pigs and cows. "I bet you'd find bags of crystallized Stairway in at least half of these poor creatures. He could have just smashed a crystal and inhaled."

"That doesn't make sense, he had vial of the stuff in his pocket before he even came in here."

"...Which is _where_, exactly?"

Dash gave a sly smile, producing an empty bottle from her jacket pocket with a sheepish grin.

"Any other objects you decide to dirty up in here?" Wolfgang asked, dreading the answer.

"Just two others. I left the body untouched. Dorado had a weapon when he charged Jack. A meat hook. I've got it on my person right now—cleaned it of prints."

"And the second?"

"Well, it's not _technically_ an object," Dash said, looking up. "But after Jack... did what she had to, I guess she puked. I got it taken care of."

The detective rubbed at his face and shut his eyes. He tilted his head back and offered a single grunt. It was an expression Isabelle had seen a few times before.

Her uncle's brain was on overdrive.

Finally, he opened his cloudy, rose colored eyes. "You trust this woman won't do anything like this again?"

"She's a _farmer_, Uncle. She was just at the wrong place and the wrong time." Dash swallowed. "Believe me."

"Mmm." he muttered once more, nodding grimly at Isabelle's words. "Well then, _mein_ _kleiner regenbogen, _I have an idea."


	10. Mending a torn seam

Isabelle came back to the academy three days after Jack had taken Dorado's life. She walked into her dorm room with a thick newspaper tucked under her arm and a cup of instant noodles in her other hand. Dash gave Jack a small nod and handed the farmer the newspaper, before moving to sit at her own bed.

Jack wearily looked over at the woman, then glanced down at the paper placed in her hands. She opened it up and quickly caught sight of the headline.

_Stairway Murder leads to multiple arrests, raids._

The blonde glared towards Isabelle.

"Keep going, hayseed. It gets better," Dash instructed, wolfing down her noodles. Jack wasn't in the mood, but she leaned forward on her bed and continued to read.

_ The hunt for the Amanda January, better known as the 'Stairway Murderer' continues to stump police, who are exhausting every lead they can find in regards to locating this elusive woman. Despite vocal protests of denial by the leaders of the Starscreamers of her involvement with the gang, fameous Detective Wolfgang Ritter claims this gang member turned informant could have been the key for shutting down two of the largest producers of the deadly drug._

_ "She seemed to truly want to help out and leave the Starscreamer lifestyle," Wolfgang stated to the Middleburg press, "However, she betrayed my trust."_

_ Amanda lead the Ritter to a production plant ran by Elton Dorado. Wolfgang believed the convict had fallen back into the Stairway trade and was proven right. Before he could withdraw, the woman ambushed Dorado, bludgeoning him to death..._

Jack felt a sharp, stinging bolt of nausea run through her body. She squinted her eyes shut for a moment and pressed on.

_...then escaping the warehouse. Wolfgang Ritter warns civilians that the Stairway Murderer is to be considered dangerous and armed with magic. Enclosed in this special edition is a profile picture, recently provided by the Middleburg police force._

The farmer's hands trembled as she searched the rest of the paper for the drawing. She found it smack in the center and the image gave her pause. Jack slowly let out a breath she didn't know she was holding.

The image depicted a woman with long, stringy hair, clearly in her mid forty's, her skin lined with dozens of scars and burns—a fair contrast to Jack's smooth and freckled complexion. Just above the woman's square jaw was a mark in the shape of a tree, leafless and gnarled.

The story continued on the back of the sketch—Jack decided she had all the information she needed from the image. She tossed the paper to the corner of her bed just as Dash let out a content burp.

After a long, drawn out pause, Jack tilted her chin towards the paper. "Dash, that ain't even _close_ ta what happened."

"Worked out better this way, bro." Isabelle shrugged, tossing her empty container to the floor and leaning back on the bed. She rolled to her side, resting her head on an arm, and regarded Jack keenly in the early afternoon light streaming from the room's single window.

Jack wasn't sure if she wanted to agree or not. "How'd they mess up my picture like that?" she asked instead.

"My uncle's good at leading people. That and, I mean, _come on_, would you rather tell people you got the crap kicked outta you by a monster with magic, or the hick next door?"

The farmer would have normally bristled at the 'hick' line, but she instead mutely nodded, glancing somberly to the side. "I at least can't argue 'bout the 'magic' part." She kneaded her hands, then sighed, leaning forward and putting them to her brow.

Isabelle awkwardly looked over at Jack, trying to think of what to say. "Look, I know it's still fresh, bro, but I showed you that paper to let you know that there was some good done, thanks to Dorado dying." She gestured at the newspaper with her free hand. "Town's cracking down on Stairway production, a big time gang's on their last leg, thanks to some of Dorado's cronies wanting revenge, and I found Blueblood's shoes in that office you fell through." Dash gave a quick roll of her wrist. "OK, that last one didn't get printed, but I let his family kinda know what was going on." She sighed, rubbing at her temple, then rolling onto her back. "Come on, hayseed. It'll be alright."

"All those good things ya told me 'bout were built on lies an' me..." Jack scrunched her face tight once more, wiping briefly at her nose. She sniffed hard. "It ain't right. What kinda world lets somethin' so _bad_ make good?"

"Hell if I know, bro." Dash stared up at the ceiling. She offered the briefest glance to the Bible on Jack's nightstand. "You're the 'grand design' gal, you tell me."

The farmer sighed, joining Isabelle at staring at the ceiling. "I've been runnin' that through my head the past two days. I dunno either."

Dash smirked. "You're not a thinker, hayseed. You're a doer." Her expression dropped. "Have you been... you know..." She gave a small gesture with a finger to the door. "Doing anything since I've been gone?"

Jack sighed, harder than before. She shut her eyes. "Nah, man. I jus' ain't been feelin' it."

It was true. After sleeping on Rarity's couch the other night, Jack had came back to the dorm room and had simply lay in her bed, only rising every few hours to change the bandage on her still occasionally weeping arm. That, and splash water on her face.

She had wanted to go out, try and maybe get some perspective, but it had just seemed too _hard _for her; Jack would either have to deal with people who were oblivious to her hurt, or worse, she might bump into Rarity. The tailor had tried to visit Jack yesterday. She had spent several minutes knocking at Jack's door; the farmer simply curled into a ball on her bed until Rarity had given up and walked off.

Jack had felt torn—she appreciated what the beauty had already done. The violet-haired beauty had proven that underneath the lace and pompous attitude was a gentle heart of steel. Rarity was Jack's rock that night. One she clung to with the desperate grip of a drowning man. It was a feeling the farmer wouldn't forget soon, if ever.

But... but she didn't want Rarity to see her like this.

Physically, she felt more or less fine—her arm notwithstanding, she had just about fully recovered from the other scrapes and bruises that night had given her—her real problem made her feel inadequate. Pathetic.

Jack's real problem was that she couldn't look at herself in a mirror without cringing.

The blonde continued to stare hard at the ceiling. With a troubled sigh, she crossed her arms over her chest.

"You need out," Dash said from across the room. The Apple rose and rubbed at her mouth.

"I..." She walked over to the window. Outside, a few students had taken up an improvised baseball game in the fields. "I can't. Ya know I can't, Dash."

"You're getting your ass out," Dash ordered, standing up. "It's either learning to cope with what you did, or staying in here until it eats you to death." She ran a hand over her multi-hued hair, still staring hard at Jack. "Just get out there and try. Go talk to Rarity. Go talk to a priest. Hell, go and do some walking. Something, _anything's_ better than just sitting here and feeling miserable, bro."

Jack turned to stare back out the window. Dash put an arm on her shoulder.

"Come on. It might make things better." Isabelle paused. "That, and I know you're not a coward. A coward would have left me back at that warehouse. So show some guts." She slowly turned Jack around. Somewhere, deep down, the farmer agreed with Isabelle. After a weak, shaky breath, the blonde nodded her agreement.

Jack moved to the head of her bed and donned her trusty stetson. With one more encouraging nod from Dash, she was off, slowly leaving the room with no real direction in mind. When she left, Isabelle returned to her bed and slumped against the wall, breathing a sigh of relief. The athlete hated having to give tough love and boot the farmer out—_twice now,_ she thought glumly—but there was no other option. Jack just wouldn't listen to her. Talking was pointless. With that in mind, Isabelle moved back to her bed and prepared to catch up on all the sleep she lost the past few days.

000

Jack left through the front doors of the Academy, doing her best to ignore the faces going by her. She hid behind her hat and pressed on.

Jack caught a ride to Ponyville with Hans. He tried to speak with her a bit as he steered the carriage down the road, but she wasn't much of a talker today, only replying to most of his conversations with a small, weak 'yeah.'

After he dropped her off at the main strip, she wandered for an hour or so, exploring the streets and alleyways in an attempt to clear her head.

It didn't work.

In another desperate bid for solace, she decided to send word home; she ducked into the town's post office.

While it would have been far quicker to call the farm's landline—one of the few modern conveniences Macintosh actually got around to buying—she found charm and enjoyment out of giving and receiving letters.

That, and she couldn't remember her own number.

Jack settled for a telegraph. The Apple dictated what she wanted to say to a blurry eyed and weak looking man well in his years. He finished transcribing the letter and handed it back so Jack could double-check its accuracy.

_Heya, Mac. Thought I'd check up on you. Been busy? I imagine so with me not around to help. Is Bloom still working on her homework? I don't want her falling behind, you know? And I guess the big question: How's Gran? I'm worried about her._

_ Guess that's about all I needed to say. Hope the message finds you alright, and tell that Zecora lady howdy next time you see her._

_ -J_

She took the letter to another man in the office—a portly soul-folk with a parchment mark on his cheek. She gave her address, he pointed a finger at the letter, enveloping it in a blue aura, then with his other hand he gave a snap of his fingers. The letter vanished, leaving only the small lingering effects of the postmaster's aura floating in the air. They slowly began to fall like snowflakes onto the floor.

While a soul-folks' teleportation spell was impressive, Jack had heard that dragons and Dragonchilde's were even quicker—their breath acted as a... a...

Jack's frown deepened as she tried to think of an apt metaphor and came up dry.

_Bet Twila never has this problem, _Jack thought bitterly as she stepped out of the office and once more onto the streets.

There were times when it felt like she'd been cheated—times when it felt like all she really had special compared to anyone else was her strength. Even then, she knew two others that beat her in spades in that regard. Macintosh could out-lift her any day of the week, not even mentioning Iron Will. Considering that the minotaur was able to carry a bag in one hand that took every ounce of strength Jack had to lift, the dark-skinned giant beat both of them without even trying.

Even her best seemed to be second best to everyone nowadays.

She sighed, walking down the streets filled with people, feeling more alone than she ever had.

_You're not alone,_ a small voice reminded her, _and you never need to be._

The farmer paused, letting the pure simplicity of the words catch her attention. It was true. While she hadn't known any of the women in her circle of friends for long, Jack knew that she could count on them. Pinkie could bring a smile to anyone's face, even when they felt like Jack did. Chylene was quiet and a bit skittish, but she had a good heart and was more than happy to listen to problems. Twila was too smart for her own good and perplexed the Apple more often than not, but even then, Jack knew she was a good woman with everyone's best interest in mind. Dash... Jack smirked slightly as she started to walk again, letting her feet run on instinct. Dash was a lot like the farmer in ways. Both of them were too stubborn, they took things into their own hands they really shouldn't, and they both wore their hearts on their sleeves. It was because of how similar they were that the two struck up a friendship so fast, even before what happened in the warehouse. The warehouse just proved to Jack where Isabelle's loyalties lay. Thanks to it, Jack knew the cocky, loudmouth athlete was someone she could put all her chips on when things got too rough. If Jack had to march through hell with one other person, it'd be the Ritter.

The last person the blonde thought of garnered her attention the most. The violet-haired tailor. The soul-folk with long eyelashes and a full, inviting smile. If circumstances had been different , Jack probably would still despise Rarity, thanks to her high-class attitude and obsession with culture and society. After everything though? Jack found the beautiful heart hidden underneath the unneeded eyeliner and blush.

She finally withdrew from her thoughts and nearly laughed. She stood by one of the side-roads that lead directly to Rarity's establishment, a small stone of dread in her gut. Jack wanted to talk to the tailor, but...

_Swallow your pride, girl. There's no shame in talking about it again, _the farmer reassured herself, sucking in a breath and marching down the path.

000

Rarity stood amid the clutter and mess of one of her backrooms, a drawing board temporally forgotten nearby. This was the _worst_ possible thing—she was trying to drum up ideas for a rather illustrious client of hers from Camelot. Henry Toity was notoriously difficult to please, according to the other designers she spoke with, and so she had spent over an hour trying to gain ideas on how to offset his thin frame and unnaturally gray skin.

_Beige ascot—perhaps a tanned undershirt instead. Oh gracious, he just _has_ to have this ensemble by Wednesday, of all days!_

She took off her ruby red glasses and chewed at an earpiece in thought.

_ Tanned outer-shirt, silk crimson ascot tucked neatly at the neckline—perhaps it would distract from his dull tone and complement his eyes. Well, I suppose if I'm going to attempt that idea, I'd best plan ahead on his cufflin—_

"Rarity!" the voice of Twila's young ward called out to her from the front room.

"Yes, darling?" she replied, silently thanking the young boy yet again for minding the store while she was desperately finishing her orders. Rarity hated taking advantage of the boy's offers to watch the store, but he had always seemed so eager to please that she couldn't help but accept.

"Someone's here to see you," he answered plainly.

The tailor winced. It was probably Penelope Finish—Rarity was behind on her order too. Sometimes it was a burden being so popular with the upper crust. She woefully put the back of her hand to her brow and sighed. It was time to face the music.

She opened the door, leaving the cluttered room behind and stepping out into the hallway, smartly tapping along the wooden floor in her white high heels. Rarity paused when she entered the shop proper and noticed who came.

"Jack?"

"Hi, Rare," Jack said, standing at the shop's entrance. She took a few steps forward, leaning against the table in the center of the room, where Spike had a game of solitaire laid out. The farmer tried to smile. It came out weak, unconvincing. "I, uh, come at a bad time?"

The tailor thought of all her urgent projects. "Not at all," she honestly replied. "Spike?"

The young lad snapped to attention, beaming at the beauty. "Yes?"

She gestured her fingers, they quickly surrounded themselves in a blue aura. From the stairway, a small coin purse levitated down to the ground floor, through the hallway and into Rarity's outstretched hand. She opened the pouch and took out a few loose gold bits, then placed them gently into Spike's hand. The green haired boy looked down at them, then back up at Rarity.

"Be a dear and get me some milk and cheese from the market, would you?" the tailor asked.

He snapped to attention, offering a crisp salute. "You can count on me!"

"Gouda, please."

"Sure."

"...And make sure it's skim milk."

"Of course!"

She smiled warmly. "Thank you, Spike."

The young lad left, prompting Jack to face the tailor. "Some kid." She gestured to the door he just left from.

"He's always been such a sweetheart." Rarity smiled. "Twila's lucky to have him as an assistant." Jack was going to comment about how it seemed like he was assisting her more than their studious friend, but Rarity had already began walking down the hallway. "Would you care to join me for some tea?"

"Eyup." She nodded. Jack paused a beat, then sighed. Rarity probably meant hot tea—something the farmer couldn't stand. Regardless, she followed after the soul-folk.

Jack entered the kitchen just as Rarity had opened the fridge and brought out a pitcher filled with tea. The violet-haired woman poured each of them a tall glass, then sat at the table and beckoned the farmer over.

The blonde nodded, joining the woman. She took an experimental drink and was pleasantly surprised at the sweetness that lolled on her tongue.

"That is how you like your tea, am I correct?" Rarity pondered, her index finger slowly making laps around the lip of her own glass. "I've always heard southern Caballites prefer cooler beverages—especially tea. Not to blanket your interests with an entire group, mind you, but I simply assumed that you may-"

"Yeah, Rare. This is just fine," Jack quickly agreed, silencing the tailor.

They kept their attention to their drinks. Eventually, Rarity took the brave jump.

"How are you, Jack?"

"Better," the farmer answered, the reply automatic. Slightly defensive. She stared into her drink, clenching her hand slightly against the glass.

"... You don't have to lie to me, darling," Rarity quietly said.

"I'm _fine_. I-"

"Jack." Her voice was tense, caked with emotion. The farmer met Rarity's insightful gaze. "I don't believe that. You've been holed up in your room for days now. When's the last time you've ate? The last time you've been to class?"

"I—"

"Please, Jack. _Talk_."

The farmer exhaled deeply. It took her a moment to speak again and when she did, it was the same defeated tone that greeted Rarity on that fateful night. "I feel like I'm gettin' tugged in all sorts of directions in my noggin', ya know?" She crossed her arms and tilted her head in thought. "Like... there've been times in the night where it hurts to breath. Where I've been jus' so... _mad_ at everythin' that went down. Few minutes later, an' I'm numb. Like, nothin's worth nothin'." She leaned forward on the table, frowning grimly. "Mostly though? I'm scared." Her frown deepened. "What's stoppin' me from snappin' like that again? Dorado might be justified, but what if it happens again on somethin' more innocent? A sparrin' match with Dash? Someone crashin' inta me in the hallway?... An' argument with you?"

"I know you would never do something like th-"

"Not if I can help it, but I-I might blow _up_ one day!" Jack explained, growing agitated. She looked at her hands, unsure where to put them. She settled for placing them in her jean pockets.

"You. Will. _Not_," Rarity snapped back, far louder and intense than the farmer was expecting. Jack stared at the violet-haired beauty. "I might not have known you for long, Jack Apple, but that doesn't matter. You've shown me you are someone I can trust completely—I doubt you have a lying bone in your body, so by the very heavens _themselves_, I can say I know you. I can look into you and see what's inside your heart." Her expression calmed down as she finished talking. "As hard as I've looked, I don't see a person capable of _breaking_ like that." She shifted slightly, adjusting her well-designed white dress. "Do you understand?"

Jack could feel tears welling up in her eyes. _Jesus, when'd you get ta be such a crybaby?_ a voice spoke up in the back of her mind. She rapidly blinked her bitterness away and wordlessly nodded.

"Rare..." the farmer trailed off.

"Mmm?" Rarity took a sip of her tea.

"Guess this is another one I owe ya."

Rarity smiled gently. Jack noticed how kind and delicate her face seemed in the glow of the evening sun. "We take care of each other, Jack. It wouldn't be _proper_ if you were there for me and I wasn't there for you." She leaned forward, putting her hands palms up on the table. "Now, as for your... anxieties, I believe I can help. Put your hands on top of mine."

The farmer did as instructed, reaching across the table and resting her calloused hands on top of Rarity's smooth ones. The tailor rubbed the back of Jack's hands with a thumb and shut her eyes. Jack felt a small twinge of electricity run from the tailor's hands to her own. This was followed by a sense of... lightness in her thoughts. She felt less burdened by worry. The anger, fear and sorrow were still there, but they were distant. Muted. Rarity opened her eyes and gazed wearily upon the blonde.

"Did it work?"

Jack gave a small nod. "Whatever ya jus' did ta me... yeah. I think so. I, uh, feel better anyway."

"Good. While it's not a permanent solution, I hope it alleviates some of your burden." The tailor weakly smiled, wincing slightly at the action.

"What was that anyway?" Jack asked, tilting her head.

"A spell one of my teachers taught me when I was learning my powers." The beauty rose from the table and stood. Jack followed suit. "I wish it lasted longer, but it should at least give you a day's relief." Tears welled up in Rarity's eyes, she blinked them away.

"What's wrong?" Jack asked, noticing the other's attempts to shrug away her emotions.

"_Nothing_, darling."

"Cut the crap," Jack replied, narrowing her gaze. "You got moody as soon as ya finished that spell. Come on. I told ya the truth—do the same fer me."

Rarity _tsked_, crossing her arms. On seeing the farmer's stubborn streak, she bit hard at her full lip. "The emotions transfer. So what you were..."

Realization dawned on the farmer. Her brow furrowed in concern. "Oh God. I'm sorry, Rare."

"I was the one who did it," Rarity snapped back, clutching her manicured hands into fists at her side. She realized what she was doing and sighed heavily, relaxing her grip. "Jack. It-it's fine. If I can do at least _this_ for you..."

"Y-you've done enough," Jack choked out. the farmer swallowed hard, feeling miserable in a whole new way. The cultured woman's strength and conviction moved the blonde and brought Jack to a conclusion she had been slowly approaching ever since she had first spoke to the tailor in this very boutique.

Rarity was beautiful. So beautiful it _hurt_.

"Rare," Jack whispered, heat rising to her cheeks. Without thinking, guided only by instinct, she took a step forward towards the woman. Rarity neither advanced or retreated. She instead stared at Jack with those blue, concerned, _kind_ eyes. Eyes that said she'd do anything for the farmer, take any burden, suffer any foul or slight.

Jack was flustered beyond anything she ever felt. Her hands shook, her heart raced, she could feel her pulse throb across her body. Even then, the farmer found the courage to take another step to the tailor. She leaned forward; Rarity's eyes slowly shut as she looked up at Jack's face, becoming half-lidded and longing. Jack lowered her head reverently and moved her hand to Rarity's chin, gently guiding it as her own body responded in kind. Their kiss was slow. Deep. Meaningful. Not a creature born of lust, this was a creature of comfort—a silent pact between the two amid the farmer's trembling frame and Rarity's running mascara, that they _would_ take care of one another, no matter how hard it was.

Rarity was Jack's rock. One that no tide would pull her away from.

000

Dimitri rubbed his jawline as he looked over a file in a manilla envelope. He leaned back in his chair and stared up at his high rising ceiling.

It had been troublesome, losing Dorado. While the man may have had his problems outside of the job, Dorcas had counted on the scarred man to be not only his adviser, but also his connection to some of the more... seedier aspects of his profession. If he ever found the woman that had killed him, well, she wouldn't live long enough to regret her actions.

It was something that could be fixed, however. Dorcas had a lot of fingers in a lot of pies. A replacement for Dorado could and would be found in due time. Now, he needed to focus on finding a replacement for his protege. He had hoped Blueblood would have proven to be a valuable ally in the long run, in between his wealthy family and eye for detail. Shame the young man had shown to be incompetent in everything Dimitri had asked of him.

_Oh well, can't dwell on mistakes, _he thought. Dorcas checked his pocket watch. It was about time for an interview. The older man bridged out his fingers and waited.

Like clockwork, he heard a knock at his door. A mustached man wearing a straw hat and a blue and white pinstripe suit sauntered in.

"Got an interview candidate ready for you, my good man," he addressed, reaching into his breast pocket and running a comb through his red and white hair.

"Have them come in, Mr. Flam," Dimitri ordered. The other gave a small bow and returned to the door. He opened it once more and gave a flourished wave of his hand over towards Dorcas. In stepped a woman, just a hair older than Blueblood. She adjusted her violet cloak swarmed with stars and long, pointed hat of the same design before staring arrogantly at Dorcas.

"Greetings." the older man smirked from across the expansive room. "I was not expecting such a beauty to come through the door."

"Trixie hardly believes you," she addressed, brushing her pure white bangs to the side of her face and pompously sticking her nose up. "Trixie can tell you've been reading my dossier."

"You're correct." He tapped the file on his desk and rose. He didn't need to look it over to recite most of the information on it—instead he stood at the front of his desk and theatrically put a hand to his temple and held a finger in the air. "Trixie Lulamoon. Twenty-six years of age and attending Cloudsdale Academy. Entered said Academy with the intent to get a degree in Magical Harmonics. A noble degree if you're intent on strengthening your powers in order to administer surgery or take up the sword as a solider." He coldly smiled. "However, I have my doubts you hold the most noble goals in mind." He gestured to the folder behind him. "There's a criminal record in there. Three counts of necromancy. '_Black magic begets a black heart,_' as the old saying goes."

"Is Trixie going to have to listen to you prattle on for ages, or will you get to the point already?" she asked, staring unafraid at the powerfully built man. Kid had spunk, Dorcas liked that.

"I'll be blunt then: I can tell by your... eccentric word usage, you're a woman from Cabello's northlands—and you share something with your minotaur brothers, aside from your habit of speaking as you do. Your kind's pragmatic. Practical." He leaned forward. "You know not to ask questions when bits are on the line."

The woman crossed her arms over her blue dress. "The Great and Powerful Trixie is listening. What needs done?" She looked at him harder. "And, better yet, what would my reward be?"


	11. Among the fields of gold

Jack gripped the broadsword in her hand as the morning light filtered through the sweet smelling and tranquil forest. The blonde concentrated on the suit of iron fitted to a log in front of her and targeted the heavy pauldron, doing her best to ignore the presence of Iron Will, standing observantly on the edge of the circular arena the farmer was in. The only sound she could hear was the quiet murmur of people in the far distance at a few of the other weapon stations Iron Will set up and the gold and orange leaves scratching the ground as they ran along the wind. In one fluid motion, Jack lifted the sword up over her head and swung down at an angle, putting her full arm strength behind the one-handed blow.

The days and weeks had scattered like the very leaves brushing past the farmer now. Late August bled into September. September to the middle of October. Piece by piece, Jack glued herself back together. The letter from home had helped close the wound. As she had expected from the stoic man, his letter was short, blunt and to the point. The farm was steady, Bloom was doing surprisingly well in school—even placing third in a spelling bee. Their granny? Well... she was doing well enough. Mac had mentioned she even had a clear day a few days before Jack had sent her letter. Which, considering how delusional the gray-haired matriarch was anymore, was a miracle in and of itself.

Surprisingly enough, Macintosh closed the letter by mentioning that Zecora had taken to staying at the house a day or two a week. (_Not what you think, sis, she's been helping me by cooking dinner and doing morning chores._ His words.) Jack had sent a few more letters over the months, though their content remained much the same.

Jack brought the weight of the blade down, connecting square against the brunt of the armor and surprisingly tearing through the iron in one hard, forceful strike. The blade remained deeply imbedded into the wooden log, halfway through the hard wood and metal. She reached forward and grabbed hold of the log with an arm, then stuck her leg on the side. With a yank, she pulled out the blade. It was warped, bent and showing a hairline crack where Jack impacted it against the heavy plate.

"Iron Will was going to speak to you about the importance of targeting joints in the armor in order to effectively cut through their defenses, but..." He scratched at his head, then laughed, no small amount of pride in his voice. "If you can swing as hard as I can, then armor? Who gives a damn!"

He noticed Jack's ruined blade. The farmer offered the handle to Iron Will. He took the useless piece and stepped towards a cloth roll he kept nearby. Unrolling a segment of the red, silken piece, he produced another broadsword. Her instructor gestured to another set of armor strapped to a tree.

"Helmet," William instructed, putting his hands at his hips and silently observing the woman. In another fluid motion, Jack brought the sword crashing down, cleaving the helmet vertically and embedding her blade deep into the log, leaving only the last quarter of wood untouched. With a hard grunt, Jack struggled and yanked out her blade, hearing a snapping noise as she did it. The weapon was in pieces, only the handle and a few splinters of metal were salvaged from the log. She gave a nervous and wide smile towards the minotaur.

"Tomorrow we're weaning you off Caballien swords. You've got the problem us norfolk got: too much power behind your blows." He shook his head, taking the ruined weapon. "Caballo may have a lot of good things. Blacksmith's aren't one. Wouldn't trust them to even make good plowshares." He pointed a finger at Jack. "Until we can get you a good piece of norfolk steel, you're training with a reinforced axe. Have a feeling that'll be the only tool you can use from around here that won't snap like a damn twig in your hands."

"Not true," Jack retorted. "I've yet ta break a hoe or rake back home, an' I use those tools all the time."

William leaned back and laughed loudly. The loud whooping noise melted any form of intimidation the scarred man held. "By my ancestors. You carry your father's song in you."

Jack gave an unsure smile. "I didn't even think I made a joke," she said.

"Just the way you said it," Iron Will dismissed, still holding an ear-to-ear grin. "That sorta practical reply came from Johnny's mouth all the time—even when we were joking with him."

"Hmm," the blonde grunted, putting a hand to her chin. Her smile widened as she thought of her father. Though the memories had lost their luster over the years, she could still remember his kind and humble ways, and how flustered he'd get when she got to crying over a skinned knee. "He was somethin' else."

"Apple didn't far from the tree."

"You wouldn't believe how many times I've heard that growin' up," Jack replied. She grew thoughtful and somber, albeit briefly. "Though I ain't sure jus' how far from him I fell."

"You're doing him proud, kid." William's meaty hand sprang into a thumbs up. "In fact, you're in my top three students this year. You blew through practice weapon training easily." He cocked his head towards the ruined suits of armor and busted logs. "And it looks like the real deal hasn't phased you either. Hell, we get you some armor and I bet you'd be battle ready in no time!"

She briefly flashed back to the warehouse, and the memories left cold and dead inside. Her expression darkened. "I, uh, wouldn't know 'bout that," she muttered. The dark skinned man's expression narrowed in concern; just before he could speak, Jack changed the subject. "So, who are the other two top dogs? If ya don't mind me askin'."

"You know one. The Ritter."

"Dash?" Jack dubiously questioned. Though the farmer knew Isabelle could hold her own, Jack hadn't seen Dash do anything of note during their time under Iron Will's tutelage. Dash hardly sparred, napped regularly in all manner of odd places—Jack saw her on a _cloud_ of all things once. The blonde still didn't know if Dash was just messing with her or... hell, Jack was pretty sure sleeping on a cloud wasn't even _possible—_not even to mention all the times she skipped because she 'wasn't feeling it.'

Jack knew when Dash took off like that, she normally spent all day running or flying, but the tall woman thought it wouldn't kill the other to actually buckle down and train with everyone else more often.

"I know that doesn't sound right," The norfolk said, reading Jack's mind, "But wait until we get everyone armor trained and full-on weapon sparring. It's awesome watching the girl fight." He clenched a fist in front of him and drove it into his palm. "Footwork, wingwork, precision strikes with a long sword, and shield expertise I've seen battle-tested men not have. If that girl's not Wonderbolt material, nobody is."

"And, uh, how do ya think a Wonderbolt would handle an Apple?" the question came out before she even had a chance to think it over. Her competitive spirit just couldn't resist testing the waters.

Iron Will replied just as quickly. "That's up to you, Jack. You've got a warrior's heart in you. Just a matter of making sure it beats." He gave a considering pause. "Though I'd bet on you one-hundred percent if we can get a good piece of norfolk steel on you."

"Yer really crazy 'bout norfolk weaponry," Jack said.

"You'll see, Apple. You'll see." He smirked.

Before either could continue their conversation, the two heard a loud group of people cheering from the outskirts of the woods. William pointed towards the sound.

"I have a feeling that's my third."

000

They traveled for a few minutes, soon coming to the archery fields, where a large group of students had gathered, forming a crescent that overlooked a large line of targets painted on hay bales and a few logs. A lone figure stood apart from the crowd, observing the targets.

Jack squinted, trying to make out the person in the late morning sun.

It was a brown-skinned woman of average height, possessing a well-toned build, if the woman's visible stomach and exposed lower back gave any clue to the rest of her, which was buried under heavy black leather. The woman reached behind her, pulling out an arrow from a quiver resting on her shoulder. She turned towards the crowd; Jack froze when she saw the woman's eyes. They were piercingly yellow and unflinching. Despite the archer's confident, condescending smirk, the expression didn't reach those hollow eyes. They continued to observe the world with the slow, confidant gaze of a predator on the prowl.

Jack followed the yellow eyed woman's stare. For a reason she couldn't explain, Jack was hardly surprised that the woman's prey was Dash, who stood in the crowd with her arms crossed and an unreadable expression on her face. The leather-clad woman's smile died; she returned to her targets. The white haired woman lined up her shot and fired at the target farthest from her. The arrow sailed over five hundred feet, cracking hard against the hay bale. Bull's eye.

The archer gave a casual smirk. Without pause, she rapidity took another arrow and fired. Another and fired. Another and fired. Each one smacked against the bale, each dead-on target. She turned to the target closest to her. She turned to the crowd and blindly fired over her shoulder. Jack wasn't surprised when it struck as well, embedding deep into the wooden log the target was painted on.

The archer put the bow to the side and pulled back her right sleeve, revealing a wrist mounted crossbow. She cocked it back and pointed with her fingerless gloves at the arrow she had just landed.

With an uncanny amount of grace, she rolled to the side, doing a one-handed cartwheel. She stopped at the apex of the trick, upside-down and one hand firmly dug into the ground to support her weight. Without hesitation, she fired the crossbow. It flew like a crack of lightening across the sky, striking true and piercing the back of her arrow, splitting it in half all the way to the target.

The crowd went ballistic, cheers exploded out at the woman's feat. Iron Will clapped loudly, pride radiating off of his face at the sight of one of his students doing so well, and Jack took off her hat and waved it loudly in the air, calling out a cheer just as loud as the crowd.

The yellow-eyed woman rolled over and stood, smiling at her adoring fans. She locked a glance with Isabelle once more. Dash retained that same unreadable expression and turned, leaving the crowd without a sound. It wasn't much, but Jack was pretty sure she saw a small flicker of hurt in the archer's otherwise expressionless eyes.

"Show's over," the leather-clad woman shot out to everyone, her smile dropping off her face in a heartbeat. "Get your asses back to work!"

There was a collective rumbling groan from the students, but underneath the archer's glare, they offered no resistance, begrudgingly splitting up and scattering in multiple directions. The earthen toned woman shook her head in irritation, collected her bow and started to slowly walk east, away from Jack and Iron Will.

The farmer quirked a brow towards her instructor. "Guessin' that was the third one you were talkin' 'bout ta me?"

"Gilda Harding." He nodded, staring at the figure slowly walking away. "That woman could put those damn griffons to shame." Jack tilted her head, not following. William sighed at the woman's clueless nature. "Forgot you're not the history type." He crossed his arms over his bare and scarred chest and stared hard at the farmer. "The cult of the Griffon, or, as our eastern friends would call them in an attempt to distance themselves from their own embarrassment, 'The Retainers of the Wind,' were a lot of things. Cowards and bigots, mostly. But, one thing that they have my respect for is archery." Iron Will nodded to himself. "During their westward campaign, the griffons proved time and time again not to engage them in the open unless we had a death wish." He looked over at the targets in the distance. "You shoot much?"

"Never got the knack fer it," Jack said.

"Same. You and me, Apple? We're creatures of instinct in battle. It takes quite the mind to use a bow. Has to be tight like a steel trap." He put his hands forward, as if physically grasping the idea he was speaking about. "Altitude, wind factor, condition of your weapon, humidity, and how your target is moving. Every single one of those things need to be factored before taking a shot." He grinned. "I'd much prefer just running up and smacking someone, you know? Easier on the noggin."

_I'd prefer not to do it at all,_ Jack thought briefly. "So, yer sayin' that Gilda's got a brain on her?"

He rubbed at his chin, smiling at his pupil. "Maybe not that, Apple. She's just wired differently." Will's kind expression died down a bit. "I think it makes her lonely, in a way."

Jack said nothing, watching the figure of Gilda leave. Iron Will clasped Jack hard on the back, the farmer stumbled forward a step.

"Iron Will's going to check on our spear users. Make sure none of them are screwing up too bad." He suddenly snapped his fingers as a thought crossed his mind. "Oh, and make sure you're free Nightmare Night!"

"Do what now?" Jack drawled out.

"The princesses are going to be here visiting a... Twily? Twilight? Uh..."

"Twila Shields?"

The giant smiled, pointing both his fingers at the woman. "That's the one! Long story short, I offered the princesses our swords. We're patrolling all night about the school, rather than her guards. It'll be good practice to teach you how to work as a team." He turned, leaving with a wave backward. "I suppose I'll see you day after tomorrow, Apple. Get some rest, 'cause if you don't stop on occasion to take a nap, then you'll find that your strength has been sapped!"

"Don't worry. Got myself a break planned." Jack smiled.

She hoped it was a good one.

000

The farmer found herself outside Sugar Cube Corner two hours later. She entered and was pleased to see Pinkie wiping the counter down. Jack glanced around the small showroom briefly, before leaning in close to the pink-haired ball of energy.

"So, uh... ya drop off that stuff like I asked ya?"

Diane ducked under the counter. Within seconds, she came back up wearing a heavy detective's coat and a dark pair of sunglasses. "It took some... convincing of certain parties, but I've got your goods." She adjusted the brown fedora on her puffy hair and reached into her pocket, pulling out a cigarette.

"Uh..." Jack trailed off, confused at Pinkie's sudden costume change. "Ya put it all out in that clearin', then?" Her head finally cleared enough that she reached over the counter and yanked the cigarette out of the woman's mouth. "An' don't smoke in a bakery."

Pinkie pouted, pulling pathetically at a strand of pink hair. "Spoilsport," she said. Her expression brightened after a moment. "But yeppers! I put a nice little pic-tastistic-a-nick basket over where you wanted! Even loaded it with goodies!" She rocked on the balls of her feet.

"Great, sugar. Thanks." Jack reached to her back pocket. She pulled out a small bit purse and gazed down at its contents. "How much I owe ya?"

"Free of charge!" the cheerful woman chirped. In between Jack looking down at her purse and looking back up, Pinkie had thrown away her costume and stood in her normal attire of a pink summer dress.

"Pinkie..." Jack warned, shaking her head. "Nah, I gotta pay ya _somethin'_."

The life of the party tapped a finger to her chin in thought. "I know!" she exclaimed. "When you're done having your special night, you can give ol' Pinkie alllll the details!"

Jack turned beat red. The farmer hadn't told _anyone_ what she had planned tonight, how could...?

"I mean, Griffon fireworks are super hard to get 'cause of the embargo on most things east, but I got some because I know some people and I think you'll really like them, I just want tohearaboutwhattheylookedlik eyouknow?Ihearthereareafewthatmakefac esintheai-"

The farmer put her palm over Diane's moth. "That's, uh, great, darlin'." She let the words sink in briefly. "So, you were, uh, talkin' 'bout wantin' ta know how we liked the _fireworks_?"

Diane took Jack's hand away from her mouth. "Well_ yeah_, silly-billy! What else would I mean?"

"Nothing," the farmer instantly dismissed. "An' don't worry, I'll fer sure tell ya 'bout what they look like, ok?"

Pinkie nodded with such enthusiasm that her hair bounced. "Okey-dokey-loki!" she sang out.

Jack said her farewells and left.

She slowly walked to Rarity's, her thoughts turning more and more towards the beautiful work of art with every footstep.

While neither had sat down and called themselves a couple, Jack saw them as nothing less at this point. They had been on six additional dates over the months and, while nothing had topped the emotional kiss they had shared during one of Jack's darkest days, there were dozens of memories the tall woman held onto involving Rarity, each one a treasured gem. Sharing homemade cookies in the student council room, teaching the prim and proper woman how to ride bareback on a horse, sneaking off with the rest of their friends and sitting by a bonfire, the time Rarity got her buzzed enough to get her nails done—each one was special in their own way.

Jack came to the boutique and rapped on the door. After a beat of nobody coming to answer, she tried the handle. She was hardly surprised to find it unlocked.

"One day yer gonna regret not lockin' this," Jack said with a small smile and a shake of her head. She walked through the showroom and was about to call out again when she heard a melodious voice fill the air, singing a slow, folksy blues song.

"_Boy, let me tell you, can't you see? She's got a heart like... Damocles. Her love's above you, on a tight string... you've no idea the pain she'll bring..._"

Jack followed the low-key tune toward the kitchen, where Rarity stood in a brown apron, doing dishes in the sink. Rarity was oblivious to Jack's presence—she continued to clean in the suds, humming the piano's part in the song. Jack smiled softly. 'Heart of Damocles' was one of her mother's favorites.

After the tailor put up a bowl into a cabinet and returned to the sink, Jack couldn't help herself.

"Good voice."

Rarity yelped in a very unladylike fashion, whipping toward the farmer.

"Jack!" she called out in exasperation, frowning and flicking her sudsy hands towards the woman. Jack cackled, clutching her gut over Rarity's distress. "What are you _doing_ here, aside from scaring me into an early grave?" Rarity wiped her hands on the apron, shaking her head.

Jack sauntered into the room, rolling up her sleeves. She went to work on the remainder of the dishes, wiping them clean with a wet rag. Rarity moved to the woman's right.

"Jus' wanted ta see if you were busy." She handed a plate to Rarity, who promptly dried it.

"I have four orders needing shipped to a gathering in Philadelphia by Friday. Frankly, I've been swamped today, and will probably be at it well onto midnight, I'm afraid."

Jack froze, her hands still deep in the dishwater. She looked towards Rarity out of the corner of her eye. "Oh," she abruptly said.

After a pause, Rarity let a small tittering of laughter out. "Darling, I'm simply teasing—though your face was priceless. I'll be free after an hour or so, once I finish a few more orders I'm finalizing. Why?"

Jack handed her another dish. "Might have somethin' planned. If yer up for it."

"You? Planning something? What a change of pace!"

"...Chylene may have helped," Jack freely admitted, wiping down knives and forks.

"Well, with Chylene helping you, I can't imagine it would be _too_ disastrous."

"Thanks fer yer vote of confidence," Jack grumbled, putting the silverware on a washcloth resting on the counter. She briefly looked around for something to wipe her dripping hands on. Just as she gave up and reached for the backside of her jeans, Rarity cleared her throat, offering the bottom of her apron. After Jack was done, Rarity stepped forward. She rose onto her toes, grabbed the back of Jack's neck for balance, and planted a deep kiss onto the farmer's lips.

"And I suppose if you're going, I can manage, even if it does end in disaster." She gave a coy wink Jack's way. Even after all the months, that wink...

Jack recovered eventually enough to grin. "Great. Want me ta swing back in an hour, or do ya jus' wanna meet me there?"

Rarity shook her head. "You're welcome to stay for a while, darling. Feel free to rest in the lounge upstairs."

The tall woman gave a nod, alright with the idea. In fact, a little nap sounded perfect to her right now. "Ya know? I think I'll take ya up on yer hospitality, Rare. Thank ya kindly."

The violet-haired woman smiled, moving past Jack and out into the hallway. "I'll be up as soon as I'm done with these dresses, dear!"

The farmer went upstairs and all but collapsed on the couch. She kicked off her boots and tilted her trusty stetson over her eyes. Within moments, she drifted off.

000

Jack awoke to the sound of running water. She stretched out a kink in her back and rose to a sitting position. After getting her boots back on and slapping herself a bit more awake, she heard the water turn off. Within moments, Rarity came out of the bathroom wearing two white towels—one wrapped snugly around her curvacious body and the other protecting her hair.

"Ah. You woke up just in time. Allow me to change, and we can go."

"A-alright, Rare," Jack said, doing her best to look away from the tailor.

"Something wrong, darling?" Rarity asked. Jack wasn't sure if she was teasing or not.

"N-nothin'. Jus' waitin' on ya ta get proper."

"'Proper?'" the violet-haired woman echoed. She couldn't help but laugh. "Considering the amount of times you've answered the door in nothing but your undergarments, I wouldn't believe you'd worry about something being proper."

"That's different," Jack argued, looking towards Rarity out of habit. She saw the towels again and looked away.

"How?" Rarity asked, finally moving from where she stood, towards her bedroom.

"Well... yer you, an' I'm me." Jack shrugged. "I ain't exactly a work of art."

"Nonsense!" Rarity called out from her room. "Simply because you're not exactly proportioned right, too tall, and too muscular, that doesn't mean you're not _art_."

Jack grinned with a mild sense of humor. "Ya jus' proved my point, Rare. I ain't like you. You've got yerself some looks." She tilted her head, debating. With a shrug, she continued "An', I mean, we're sorta... you know... it wouldn't be right fer me ta look at ya when yer not exactly dressed."

"Even if I wanted you to?" her voice coyly suggested. Jack could feel her ears heat up.

"Well..." Jack stammered out. Sad part was, tonight she was going to ask a question that was in the same ballpark. Rarity stepped out of her room, dressed in a sharp violet blouse and a dark black miniskirt. She wore a single gold band around her neck, and had her hair styled. It lay down in violet layers, spiraling just below her shoulder blades. Rarity smiled, showcasing the violet lipstick she wore.

"_Wabi-Sabi_," she said. Jack paused, raising a brow.

"What?"

"The Japanese belief that true beauty comes from imperfection." She sauntered forward, her heels clicking smartly against the wooden floor. Rarity reached up and put a hand to Jack's dark and tanned skin. She gave a small kiss to Jack's neck, leaning into the farmer's broad shoulders. "You're art," she whispered into Jack's ears, sending shivers running through the tall woman's body.

Jack stared deeply into Rarity's blue eyes. In the few romance books she had read, she always heard about someone getting drunk on another persons gaze. While she wasn't drunk looking into the tailor's expression, she was sure feeling buzzed. "We should go," Jack quickly announced—any longer like this would drive her mad.

Rarity daintily offered her hand. Jack took it and escorted the beauty downstairs.

000

They arrived at the field just before the sunset. The plot of barley was a distance away from Ponyville, but in Jack's mind, there was no other spot she'd like to be with the woman at her arm. The field of gold rolled on like a wave in the breeze, creating the image of a gentle ocean current. Rarity wordlessly tightened her grip on Jack. The farmer squeezed back, never taking her eyes off of the land. In the far horizon was a solitary farmhouse, a weathervane slowly moving back and forth on its rooftop. Each could hear the quiet, muted creek as it turned in the wind's dance. Farther back still were the outlines of two distant hills, each covered in small purple and yellow splotches of color—flowers that were still fighting against the incoming cold.

"I didn't realize there was some place like this near me," Rarity admitted.

"Chylene told me 'bout it. Said it was a nice place." Jack looked up at the sky. "I mean, I wanted ta take ya somewhere nice 'fore I talked ta ya 'bout..."

"About what, dear?"

Jack wordlessly held onto Rarity's hand and began to take her across the ocean.

Rarity followed along then stumbled, nearly dropping to her knees as she struck a small hole in the ground. "Try walking through fields with _heels_," she growled as she rose and begun to carefully navigate her way along. Jack rolled her eyes and simply hoisted the woman up in her arms, carrying her bridal style down the way. Rarity squealed in surprise, but recovered promptly enough and began to speak as the Apple carried her.

"If I had known you'd be doing something like this, I would have worn more practical footwear. Not to imply I'm unappreciative, of course. It's just simply-" she stopped, instead looking at what lay out before her.

It was a simple thing. A small picnic basket with a large blanket underneath. In fact, from anyone else, Rarity would almost consider it too cliche. Yet, since it came from the sincere farmer holding her, Rarity decided to make an exception.

"It's lovely, Jack."

The farmer smiled sheepishly. "T-thanks. I thought it might be too... uh... 'rustic,' fer ya, maybe."

The tailor batted her eyes. "Look at who I'm with. I don't believe I have a problem with a rustic flavor on occasion."

Jack felt heat rising to her face again. She took Rarity to the blanket and sat her down, then reached into the basket. She pulled out two plastic wrapped tuna sandwiches, giving one to Rarity. She then took out a bottle of white wine. Rarity's eyes widened when she noticed the markings on the bottle.

"Aged Riesling," she said. "Good selection."

Jack snorted. "I wouldn't know. I jus' picked a white wine 'cause that's supposed ta go with fish. Uh, right?"

"It's a good assumption, darling. However, Riesling's are typically sweeter than the average white wine. The bottle you're holding at the moment isn't dry at all."

"'Course not. It's ain't even been opened yet," Jack said defensively.

Rarity debated on arguing, but decided to let that particular dog lie. She looked down and started to unwrap her food. "Tuna sandwiches and wine. They really seem to be on opposite ends of the spectrum."

Jack grunted, already halfway through her sandwich. She swallowed. "What was that, Rare?"

Rarity shook her head, smiling with a certain world-weariness. "You've got some mayonnaise on your cheek."

"Oh." Jack reached up and wiped by her mouth with the back of her hand.

"...The other cheek," Rarity corrected, sighing with exasperation. Though her eyes sparkled with humor.

"Oh."

The two ate and cracked open the wine. Rarity drank more than she knew she should, while Jack seemed to be simply nursing her drink as she sat in nervous thought.

After clearing her fourth glass, Rarity put it to the side and rested her hands in her lap. "So. What is it you wished to talk to me about?"

The blonde froze, her glass still in her hand. "Uh... I..." Jack swallowed, facing the music. "We've been 'round each other fer a few months, yeah?"

"Mmm-hmm," she agreed. She looked at the bottle, then back to her empty glass. With a slight smile, she filled up once more.

The farmer took another steadying breath. "An', uh, what do ya think 'bout me?"

Rarity laughed, taking another sip of her drink. She ran a hand through her silken hair. "I'm sitting in a field having a picnic with you. What do you believe, _darling_?"

That gave Jack the courage to speak her next words. "I want ta go farther."

"Farther?" Rarity repeated. Jack nodded.

"I-in our relationship." She rubbed at her temple, not sure how to explain without her seeming like a naive schoolgirl. Or, worse, a creep. "Truth is, Rare, I think yer somethin'. Somethin' e-else." She narrowed her gaze towards the beauty. "I wanna hold ya. I...I wanna kiss ya. Hard. I want ta-"

"-I _know_ what you want." Rarity coyly smirked, interrupting the farmer. "I was just afraid you'd never come out and say it. It wouldn't be right for the woman of the relationship to be the first to move."

"...Rare, we're both women. 'Least, since last time I checked."

The tailor tittered at Jack's revelation, looking briefly at her once more empty glass. She then faced the farmer, broadly smiling. "Just shut up and come kiss me," she commanded, the smallest slur in her voice.

Jack let out a relieved laugh at Rarity's acceptance. The farmer's heart pounded in her chest as she slowly crawled on all fours towards the woman. When she was close enough to touch Rarity, Jack sat down face-to-face with the tailor and was briefly struck numb at the woman's sensual, classic beauty. Rarity, for her part, gazed expectantly at Jack, waiting for the farmer to make the first move. When the farmer was hesitant, unsure on where to begin, the tailor took Jack's hand and placed it just above Rarity's knee. She then leaned forward, kissing Jack hard on the mouth. Jack gasped in surprise at the sudden affections; Rarity took that moment of vulnerability to go deep into Jack, the tailor ran her tongue along the roof of the farmer's mouth. The blonde shut her eyes as pleasure came in waves up and down her spine. Jack moved her other hand to Rarity's knee. Both of her digits worked together as she ran on complete instinct, moving her hands up along the tailor's soft thighs, rolling up Rarity's miniskirt past her wide, sensual hips.

Rarity broke the kiss—Jack opened her eyes and was about to ask what was wrong, when Rarity, still staring deeply into the blonde's green, longing eyes, reached for Jack's belt.

She felt Rarity tugging hard, then the release as her belt came undone. She heard a zipper, and felt her jeans loosen. Rarity ran a finger under the elastic of Jack's underwear, sending electric currents down to the blonde's toes.

"Boxers," she scoffed, partially in humor. The tailor then leaned back onto her elbows and waited for the farmer. Jack took a look down and noticed two things. One; Rarity wore some of the smallest bottoms the farmer had ever seen. Any less, and they wouldn't even cover her modesty. The other was the large design on the violet-haired woman's thigh, in the shape of three diamonds.

"A-all soul-folk's got somethin' like...?" Jack panted out, heat flooding throughout her body.

'No, darling. It's a tattoo," Rarity said, her chest rising and falling as she tried to calm down from her own building excitement. Jack stared hard at it, then bent down, kissing the woman's creamy thigh. Without thinking, her kiss turned into a slow, deliberate lick. Rarity gasped at the unexpected stimulation. She quickly reached down with a hand and touched Jack's face. The farmer stopped, briefly concerned that she crossed a boundary.

"C-come closer. I want to unbutton you," Rarity whispered, her eyes sparking with arousal as she turned the farmer's face towards her own. Jack felt another shiver of excitement radiate through her body and she crawled on top of Rarity. The tall woman gently sat on Rarity's torso, just below the tailor's palmable breasts. Rarity reached up and began to unbutton Jack's plaid shirt. The farmer shut her eyes, and ran her fingers through Rarity's silky hair while the beauty worked her delicate fingers at Jack's neckline, then began their journey south.

Halfway down her shirt, Jack felt something was wrong. The feeling came instantly, as if a switch got flicked on inside her mind. Jack felt a shiver run down her body as the wind suddenly pierced through her dark and freckled skin. She opened her eyes and gasped at what she saw. She wasn't in a field with the most beautiful girl she knew—Jack was pinning a man underneath her knees, his face smashed and pulpy well beyond recognition. The farmer's jaw clenched as the man called Dorado stared straight up at the ceiling with an unblinking, dislocated eye. An eye that turned slightly, focusing on her.

The farmer yelped, stumbling backwards and launching herself away from Rarity. She got caught in her own halfway-off pants and landed hard on the blanket underneath her. Jack stared blankly ahead, panting heavily at the vision that had came to her.

"J-Jack?! What's wrong?" Rarity quickly asked, getting up off the ground and quickly moving to the farmer's side.

"I saw it again, Rare," Jack answered after a brief moment of what felt like weightlessness. "I-I was there. The warehouse." She curled up her legs, bringing her knees to her chest, all interest in their previous activity gone. "I... I... _shit_."

Rarity adjusted her skirt, making herself proper once more, then fell to her knees and brought Jack in close, resting the side of the farmer's head against her beating heart. "It's quite alright, dear. W-we can wait until you're ready."

Though Jack didn't look up, she could hear the longing in Rarity's voice, and Jack could easily guess the disappointment in her blue, gentle eyes.

"I-I wanna be ready. I _am_ ready. Jus'... God_damn,_" she choked out, putting her thumbs to her brow, embarrassed beyond words at her inability to preform, and still shivering at the memory of that August night.

Among them, the sea of gold danced and swayed in the breeze.

000

Twila walked through the botany department of the school, shaking her head in confusion. She came to the busted display one of the first-years had told her about. It just didn't make sense to her. This was the third sample that had been stolen in the past month—Twila just didn't get it. There were never any fingerprints, no magical aura, nothing to identify the thief. In addition, Twila could think of nothing the plants had that could be used for anything. While her knowledge of botany was more limited than other fields of study, she knew none of the plants had a hallucinogenic effect when smoked or inhaled, and she knew they didn't have much of a market value.

She scratched her head. From beside her, a haughty voice spoke up, seeped in sarcasm. "A mouse crept under your watchful cat's-eye. Trixie's not surprised."

Twila briefly glared Trixie's way, then resumed studying the broken display. She looked down at the plaque below the model.

"_Chondrodendron tomentosum_." She ran the word through the encyclopedia in her head. "Vine plant from the north." It felt like she was missing something, but she wasn't sure what.

"Trixie scoffs at your limited knowledge. Trixie knows that the Curare plant houses tubocurarine—a muscle relaxant." She crossed her arms and turned her nose to Twila. "The other plants that were taken are much the same."

"So is someone making a poison?" Twila quietly asked, rubbing her dark skin.

"The Great and Pow-"

"That moniker is ridiculous!" The lavender-haired soul-folk snapped. Though she had tried her best to stand Trixie's constant belittling and self-righteous attitude, she was starting to get at the end of her rope.

"It sounds better than the second-best and can barely channel magic Twila," Trixie instantly shot back, brushing the curl of her hair out of the way. Before the other could interject, Trixie continued. "And a poison would fit with the time frame."

"Time frame?" Twila repeated. "What do you mean?"

"You should look at your social calender, second-best and half-assed." She pointed a blue-tipped finger towards the scholar. "The princesses' are soon coming to visit you out of pity, are they not?"

"Yes—no!" The lavender-haired girl rolled her eyes. "Yes to visiting, no on it being out of pity." Twila narrowed her brow. "Wait. So you're suggesting...?"

"Trixie isn't suggesting. She is telling you that there's going to be an attack on the princesses."

Twila turned, getting ready to head through the rows of plant displays towards the room's exit. "Then I'll just contact them! Tell them to call the whole thing off."

"And let the person trying this bide their time? The Great and Powerful Trixie questions your logic. No. My suggestion is this: We hold a stakeout. Despite your ineptness in magical casting, you do know an invisibility spell?"

"Of _course_ I do."

"Well, I simply suggest we draft a few other soul-folk and keep a watch. That way the thief will be caught red-handed." She narrowed her eyes at Twila, still retaining that egotistical and smug expression. "Trixie assumes you know that would hold up in a court of law far more than aura coloration or a circumstantial fingerprint."

Twila hated agreeing with the woman, but she did see the logic. "I'm at least letting Celestia and Luna know our plan." She gestured toward the broken stand. "Look that over—try to find some form of identification regarding the thief. I'm going to go have Spike take a letter." The lavender-haired woman shot out of the room in a near panic. Trixie scowled, her sour disposition even more sour than normal. The _indignity_ of Twila assuming Trixie would leave prints was nearly too much to bear. She was a showwoman, after all. It wouldn't be good at all if she messed up on something that simple.

Trixie smiled darkly, running a thumb along the wand and moon shaped mark on her cheek. The soul-folk admitted to herself that she probably shouldn't have given that dense fool even a hint on what the plants were used for, but it wasn't much of a show if only one person acted. Besides, if she played her cards right, Trixie just got herself a duel with Celestia's protege. If that wasn't a once in a lifetime show, nothing was. Add on all the bits she'd be making from her _real_ reason for getting the plants and...

Trixie's grin broadened. Sometimes, things just worked out for the best.


	12. Answers

**AN: Quck note explaining this chapter: I have this story hosted on as well, and had a blog post that was a kinda Iron Will ask me anything. This Q&A side-chapter is the result. It's not necessary for the main story, but I thought had enough world-building that you guys deserved to read it too. Expect the next legit chapter tomorrow.**

Jack sighed deeply as she sat with her head laying against the top of her desk, stewing in misery at what happened yesterday with Rarity. The tall woman attempted to relax amid the dozens of people talking in class as they waited for their teacher.

The blonde hadn't slept well last night—she had tried her best to salvage what she could of the date, but it was hard to spring back from not being able to perform. Jack felt pathetic. Pathetic and paranoid—she knew it wasn't the case, but it still felt like the classroom knew about what she tried yesterday and were speaking in low, conspiratorial tones about it.

The door finally opened to the room, dispelling Jack's pointless brooding.

She paused on seeing who walked in, as did the rest of the class.

Before them was William Kalaallit, looking as professional as a norfolk could. He had on a set of neatly pressed trousers, along with a crumpled jacket and tie. As often as the man was bare chested, Jack doubted that the clothes saw many outings.

Iron Will pushed up his horn-rimmed glasses and took stock of the room.

"Mrs. Jubilee won't be in attendance until next week. Her family's vineyard is in harvest season. Until then, Iron Will is going to be your substitute, due to my knowledge of the subject matter-" He quickly looked at the class, suddenly apprehensive. "You all _are_ on norfolk history now, correct?"

There were a few nods of agreement. Jack swore under her breath—she thought they were still on the European island nations. She was at least a chapter or two behind.

Iron Will pounded a fist into his wrinkled suit, his confidence restored. "When you want information out, get it straight from the bird's mouth!"

He moved over to the podium at the front of the class. Will searched behind it, eventually finding a a textbook. The giant cracked it open to a marked page and began reading.

"The norfolk are a proud and noble race of warriors from the northern lands of Caballo. Previous one hundred B.C.E., they were hunter-gathers that lived in relativity isolated tribes. This changed at the beginning of the common era, where King Pyth, the Fortunate Traveler, united the tribes against a horde of marauding diamond dogs..." He yawned, rolling his eyes. "This makes my people soundso _boring_!" The giant slammed the book close, making several of the students twitch like they received an electric shock. "Norfolk deserve better than this cut and dry pulp!" The giant dropped the book casually to the ground, then looked over everyone present. "You know what? Instead of reading this crap, how about you all ask me some questions? We'll have ourselves a conversation—anything goes. That's the best way to find out about someone, after all. I'm sure everyone's wanting to know about the great Iron Will and his people!" He quickly turned to the side to look at Jack. "Ain't that right, Apple!?"

"Eyup," the farmer weakly agreed, doing her best to ooze false enthusiasm, but not succeeding in the slightest.

"Good!" he proclaimed. "_Then let's see some haaaands_!" he roared. In a panic, dozens of hands shot up in an attempt to appease the beast of a man. He scanned over the crowd and pointed at an exceptionally nervous looking earth-folk. "You!"

"M-me?" he weakly asked, leaning back and staring at the dark-skinned man.

"Let's hear us a question!" William ordered.

"I dunno, shit," he whispered under his breath. Suddenly, he perked up. "Have you ever killed a man?" As soon as he said it, his face heated up and he put his palm to his face. "That wasn't even close to what I meant," he muttered.

"'Course I have!" Will nodded. "Celestia doesn't call me 'the beast who talks' without a reason!" He put a considering hand to his chin and stroked his facial hair. "At least, I think she still calls me that. She did last time I asked, anyway. Hmm..." he trailed off in thought. After an awkward moment, he came back to the room. "Uh, anyway, next question." He ran his finger over the moderately large classroom. "Uh, you. With the pack of cigarettes under your sleeve."

A man with slicked back, black hair glanced to the pack resting just above his bicep. "Alright, Wills. Remember your first kill?"

"Who doesn't?" the norfolk replied, crossing his arms as Jack briefly bit her lip. "But to answer your question, yes. Iron Will remembers it clearly. Had to put down my dog at fifteen." He tilted his head. "Unless you mean a person; if so, it was when I was a child of twenty—about twelve by Caballo's standards. A whisperer—my people's version of a soul-folk—came to me and my family's house in the dead of night and attempted to burglarize. He knew my father was away on patrols deep into the forests of my hometown and that my mother was a mere housemaid. The man thought it'd be easy for him. He didn't count on me." Will shrugged. "Took my ancestor's sword and cut him like a holiday turkey."

The few students in Iron Will's other class nodded, used to the minotaur's more pragmatic ways. The rest shared uneasy glances with one another, until a woman wearing a beanie raised her hand.

"Uh, yo."

"Yo." Will nodded back.

"So, what exactly are diamond dogs, that they caused your people so much trouble?"

He smirked, rolling up a sleeve to his elbow. At his muscled forearm were multiple deep and jagged scars, obviously from a set of teeth almost eight inches wide. "They're little runts—about four feet. But they're pack creatures. Attracted to shiny objects like gems, mirrors and blades. A handful of them mean nothing. My scar?" He hoisted his arm up slightly. "Only wound Iron Will had from a pack of fifteen." The giant shook his head. "Individually, they caused no problems. When some of the more feral of the beasts joined together and tried to take over our land in waves numbering in the thousands—that's when they gave us 'trouble.'" He rolled his sleeve back down and shrugged easily. "Though my ancestors seemed to do well enough against the creatures—my race is still alive, after all."

A soul-folk raised his hand, looking over his glasses at the heavily scarred man. "Hey, Iron, why are the norfolk so strong, anyway? You talk like taking down fifteen diamond dogs is yawn-worthy. Is it just how you guys are, or is there magic involved?" The lad then glanced Jack's way, briefly. "It the same reason some of the earthers so damn strong?"

Recognition dawned in Will's eyes. "Wallace. Part of the flock I'm training, right?"

"Yes, sir. Sword and board."

"Good. It's a reliable style." Will moved to sit down on top of the teacher's desk, but stopped when he heard it creak dangerously under his weight. "As for your question... depends on how you view things. Several philosophers suggest that earth-folk and norfolk have no true magic to claim. On the other hand, some say every race has magic, just a bit more diluted and subtle. Myself? I dunno. I've always figured we are how we are, given strength as needed through the generations. If I've got magic in me, I've never felt it, anyway." He crossed his arms and looked towards Jack. "What about you, Apple?"

Jack tilted her head. "What about me?"

"You ever get that... hell, I dunno, tingle?"

The farmer blinked. "Uh... tingle?"

Will gave a shrug. "Man, doesn't magic, like, tingle when you use it?"

"I dunno. Ain't exactly like I got the equipment fer it either, Will."

Will rolled his eyes. "You're no help." He paused, putting a hand to his unkempt chin. "Then again, I don't think you're a pureblood earth-folk anyway, so maybe you wouldn't have that tingle regardless."

Jack narrowed her eyes, not liking the implication. Will shrugged.

"Nothing shameful about it. Iron Will just thinks you might have some norfolk in your blood a few generations back. Would explain the height, muscle, and bronzed skin, is all. Your grandfather's father, maybe."

A haughty voice from the back spoke up. "I can trace my family six generations. All earth-folk. I've never had a... tingle, or what ever it was you said."

Will held out his hand towards the woman in the back row. "Alright, cool. Guess that answers the question." He frowned, looking towards the beanie-wearing soul-folk that had spoke a moment ago. "As for yours, I don't know, man. It's possible magic got your people and mine as far as it has, but I prefer to think it was our guts and integrity."

The soul-folk nodded, accepting of the answer. Will noticed a hand raised to his far right.

"Let's hear it." The burly man nodded. A petite sky-folk clasped her hands together and swallowed.

"A-are norfolk women as strong as the men?"

"'Strong' can mean a lot of things." He rubbed the back of his neck. "Until the last fifty years or so, they were weak in our society in several ways. They couldn't join wars, couldn't work high-risk jobs. Couldn't be a tribe leader. Was justified in our case, though. Sorry, gals." Before anyone could say much else, he pointed to a woman in the back on a video game. "Pop quiz, nerd!" he roared, scaring the poor girl half to death. "What's Cabello's male-to-female ratio?"

"Uh..." she trailed off, racking her brain for the answer. "O-one to five?"

"Correct! Good." He put his hands to his hips, frowning. "At one point, ours was one to twelve. We needed every able-bodied female with child in order to keep population levels. Nothing sexist about it, just fact." Will gave a polite nod. "Now, though? We're at a one to six. Not ideal, but better. As such, they're allowed far more rights and strength in the community nowadays."

He paused. "...O-or did you mean, like, actual strength?"

The sky-folk blushed, embarrassed at the attention. "Actual strength."

"Oh." Will coughed into his fist. "Well, in that case, yes. They're very similar to males. Usually between six to eight-and-a-half feet, able to utilize protein to great extent, allowing muscles to develop nearly as well as men. So, uh, yeah. Next question. You," he said, pointing to the left. "With the glasses."

An earth-folk pushed up his horn-rimmed spectacles. "Any specific cultural or technological achievements the Norfolk have given us?"

"Cultural? I saved your culture during the griffon wars. Does that count?" he sternly asked, then gave a pumped nod. "Iron Will only jokes. He _did_ save your peoples' asses during the war, but my people have contributed to more than that. For starters, your language." He moved to a map of the world and gave a tap to the island country of Spain. "Spaniards and the English united under Uther Pendragon's name and crossed the ocean, discovering southern Cabello. They spent a year migrating north, eventually discovering a few scattered norfolk tribes, who took them in as their own. Our languages were incompatible with one another, so it took several months to establish a rapport. Once they did, the groundwork for your language were set. You can still see norfolk influence in _hundreds_ of words, like soul-folk. It's derived from what we called whisperers that became soldiers—_sol-djinn, _meaning, 'the inward strength.'" He gave a smug, broad smirk. "Not to mention our metalwork. Guess who made the railway your trains run on? Norfolk. Silver necklaces you wear? Usually norfolk. Our lands are all but swimming in minerals—we've made smithing into an art due to it."

William pointed dead center. A timid Sky-folk seated in the front row near the door slowly raised his hand.

"What can you tell us about the Griffon Wars, from your point of view?" he asked sheepishly.

"Most black and white war Iron Will has ever fought in," Will stated, looking grim. "Bunch of pathetic worms trying to wipe out Cabello's soul-folk and my whisperers. Those griffon-folk deserve everything that's been done to them, and more."

A younger man wearing a scarf shook his head. "Wasn't it just a group of them that fought? The Retainers were the real problem, correct? Surely not all the griffon-folk can be tha-"

Will's expression turned dark, like thunderclouds on the horizon."You haven't seen what I have. What they did to people they captured as they moved west. How they broke them. Or worse, how they killed them. If I _never_ see a Griffonchilde again, it'll be too soon. Next question."

A silence settled over the class. Jack spoke up, shifting away from the dangerous mood as quickly as she could. "What's yer biggest city?"

"Whitehearth," William automatically replied back, adjusting his unkempt tie. "It's a fortress town funded by King Pyth in his later days, holds about four thousand people, and the only damn place you'll find warmth that far north. Good mead, secure against all but the most sly invaders. Home, sweet home."

Another hand rose up. Will shot from the hip, pointing at the fellow.

"So, uh, who was King Pyth again?"

Iron Will's jaw dropped. "Y-you're joking, right?" he slowly shook his head, slack jawed and open mouthed. "You all have King Arthur drilled into your brains, but not Pyth?" Will sighed, rubbing at his forehead. "King Pyth was one of the most legendary figures of his time—despite being barely a youth of thirty and an orphan, he nevertheless rose to power by discovering and carrying Durandell—a sacred blade embedded in stone that only a pure heart could free. With that as a beacon of inspiration, the child-king Pyth united hundreds of splintered tribes and joined them together into one—the clan called norfolk."

Jack quirked a brow. "Y'all didn't have a name fer yer people until then? Yer race is named from a clan?"

"The original name of our people as a whole was _Gendarhn_, which, loosely translated, means 'to think.' We simply considered ourselves improved enough united that we abolished our previous race name." He shrugged his massive shoulders. "But Iron Will digresses. He got off track... again. Any more questions?"

"Yeah," a lazy voice drawled out from the back. A man with his boots propped up on top of the desk gave a small adjustment to the trucker cap he wore. "What kinda heroes do y'all have? Myths? That sorta thing."

"Our legends usually stem from at least a grain of truth. Like the tale of Blackeye, the twenty-five foot tall norfolk lumberjack who was able to clear out entire forests in a matter of days." He shook his head with a smile. "He was only fourteen feet tall, and it'd take him almost a solid week to clear out an acre of densely populated trees. As for actual myths, there's just the usual flavor of things you'd find in most indigenous tribes. Several remind me of the studies I've had over Roman myths and early deities. Things like how monsters came to be, why Father Winter abhors Mother Sun—that one's actually a pretty good story. She and the Moon were secret lovers; when Father Winter found out, he condemned them to live their lives as far away from one another as possible. It's why during the colder months when Father Winter visits his children, Mother Sun only fleetingly stays." He cracked his knuckles and reached into his pocket. Popping a piece of gum into his mouth, he continued. "Man, Iron Will loves peach gum. Anyway, that tale is a part of why ancient norfolk considered eclipses sacred marks of good fortune—compared to some of the European Islands' old tribes, who thought it was a sign of ill-tidings." He blew a bubble, then brought the gum back into his mouth. "There are several more, but we're starting to get pressed for time. If the idea of hearing more about my race's old legends excites you, please check Iron Will's norfolk class next semester."

"So, do y'all still follow that sun an' moon crap?" The cap wearing man asked.

"Like, as a legitimate religion?"

"Yeah."

"A large portion of us do not, no." He started to count on his hands. "You'll find ancestral worship in the northern segments, a philosophical life stance that seems to have Buddhist roots in the east, your fathers introduced Judaism, Christianity, and Shintoism to us in the south. Westward is predominately dedicated to Almyra, the Goddess of war and harvest."

"Seems like an' odd choice ta have together," Jack said.

Iron Will tilted his head. "How do you figure? There's a season for everything. War, peace, harvest, planting—that cyclic nature is how life works."

"I guess."

The minotaur looked behind him, glancing at a clock on the wall. "One more, I guess, and that'll do for today."

A bald sky-folk raised his hand. "It's a bit personal, but tell me about yourself."

The giant grinned broadly. "Iron Will's favorite subject! What would you like to know?"

"If you've got a wife."

His easygoing smile faded in seconds. A frown took over. "Had," he quietly said.

"Oh."

Will sighed, rubbing at his black goatee. "Lost her during the Griffon wars. A platoon of the winged bastards raided a town she was stationed at. Tried to break into a church where some kids were holed up." He gave a snort of disdain. "Got twenty of them before it was all said and done. Bought enough time for reinforcements to save the kids, at least. Could barely recognize her from the wounds."

He became silent. Lost in a memory.

"Sorry," Jack said. Her words felt hollow, but it felt like she had to say _something_ after that.

"Jiranda was something else. A warrior first, woman a distant second. But the days she actually did break down and wear a gown..." He wistfully smiled. Jack could see the small traces of crows-feet around his eyes. The farmer had never thought about how old William was. "She at least brought honor to her fathers and died a warrior's death. That's what she would have wanted." He bit at his lip, seeming to want to add more, but put his emotions to the side, instead turning to glance at the clock once more. "Guess it's about time to dismiss everyone. For those in my combat class, get rested up. It's not going to be an easy patrol on Nightmare Night." He gave a loud clap and pointed to the door with both hands, his enthusiasm from earlier returning. "Dissssmisssed!"

The students filed out, Jack being the last in a long line. She gave a look over her shoulder.

In the empty classroom Will stoically stood with his hands balled at his side, looking miles away.


	13. Prima donna

The violet-haired tailor looked away from one of her latest sketches to take another sip of coffee. She briefly let the warmth of the beverage flow through her body, then returned to work, leaning over the slanted desk and filling in the design with a bit of color from a pencil. The woman crossed her arms and envisioned how the dress would look in motion. She gave a content nod at her thoughts. The emerald green, open-sleeve dress she was designing was bold and inventive, summer attire inspired by Cabello's deep south culture. She focused especially on the green-black embroidery work she had planned on doing across the piece—it would help to suggest an hourglass figure for even those not graced with one.

A knock at the front door stopped her from making any additional notes or doodles to the sketch. As early as it was, Rarity knew exactly who was waiting to be let in.

Her suspicions were confirmed. Just outside, squinting at the early morning glare of the sun, was Jack. The blonde crossed her arms and bit at her lip, seeming to be lost in her own world. Without a second thought, Rarity unlocked the door and held it open.

"Thanks," Jack said, entering. The two looked one another over in silence. Finally, Rarity kindly smiled.

"How are you doing?"

"G-good enough, I reckon," Jack carefully replied, crossing her arms once more and glancing at the floor. While Rarity was the very definition of tactful, she knew being blunt was sometimes the only way to approach the tall woman.

"Listen, darling. About the other day-"

Jack perked up, interrupting the tailor. "-Wasn't that great? The fireworks were really somethin', yes sir! Add on some of the best darn tastin' tuna sandwiches I've ate in a long time an-"

"Jack," Rarity sternly said. "Don't ignore the issue."

The farmer briefly held on to her more positive expression, before deflating. She met the beauty's eyes. "F-fine. What about it?"

Rarity shook her head. "I simply wanted to state that although our... _liaison_ didn't turn out quite as well as either of us hoped, I still had a wonderful time." She reached up, brushing a stray lock of Jack's hair out of her face. "_Nothing_ will change that. We'll simply wait until you're ready." She looked down and adjusted the collar around the farmer's shirt, making it even all along the neckline. After a brief moment of observation with a raised brow—a sculptor observing stone—she licked her thumb and ran it along Jack's right eyebrow, then nodded in approval. Rarity reached into her pocket and pulled out a small black pencil. She reached for Jack's eyes—the farmer backed off in a heartbeat.

"Hell no," she said with a few quick slaps of her hands towards Rarity. "Ain't no way I'm doin' eyeliner."

"But they're such a pretty green. Wouldn't you enjoy havi-"

"No."

"But-"

"Ain't happenin', Rare." Jack crossed her arms and shook her head.

"So insufferable," Rarity pouted, putting the pencil back into her slack pocket. She gave a small doff to her own styled hair. "Anyway... I suppose you're wondering why I called you here?"

The farmer tilted her head. "Nah. Figured it'd be you jus' wantin' ta do somethin', or talk about..."

"I said what was needed regarding it, Jack. We'll simply do the adult thing and try when you're ready again—there's no need to dwell on it unless it shows after repeated attempts." She began to walk away, gesturing for Jack to follow. "No, the reason I asked you here is because I finished a design that I believe you'll be quite enamored with."

Jack gave the tailor a flat look as she moved to catch up. "I ain't the dress type, Rare. Ya know that."

The violet-haired woman gave a coy smile that spoke volumes. "Who said it was a dress?"

"Uh..." Jack trailed off, heat on her face.

Rarity laughed as she ducked into a room just off the hallway behind the store front.

"Nothing alarming either, I can assure you. If anything, this may be one of the most practical articles of clothing I've made in a long while."

"Practical, huh?" the blonde mused, rubbing her chin. "Ok," she conceded, following into the other room. "Let's see what ya got."

On a stand in the far corner of the room strewn with half-completed clothing was something that gave Jack literal pause when she entered the room, thanks to its strange juxtaposition with the more innocent. mundane dresses and suits resting in the room and on racks flush against the wall.

The stand housed a tall suit of obviously high-grade leather armor, oiled until it nearly shined. Each piece was immaculately detailed, from the thick, strapped boots to the individual pieces of leather protecting every digit on the hand. It was crowned by a thick hood.

"Ya make this?" Jack questioned, glancing over at the tailor.

"Mmm." She nodded once, her keen eyes staring hard at the piece. "It was a bit outside my area of expertise, but I feel like it was a respectable try."

"Respectable? Thing looks great ta me."

Rarity brightened, offering a warm half-smile. "Well, thank you. I hope it serves you well."

The farmer did a double take. "Wait, what?" she asked, tilting her head.

"I don't believe I need to explain it. It's for you."

Jack shook her head. "Nah, Rare. This is too nice, I ca-"

"You can and you will, darling. It's just your size, and..." She looked towards the floor briefly. "And if something like Dorado ever happens again..."

"I don't plan on doin' somethin' like that again," Jack instantly answered. After a beat, she continued, "but... this thing might do me well in Iron Will's class. I mean, he wanted us armor trained, and I reckon he wouldn't mind us bringin' our own, so..."

Rarity gave a pleased clap. "Excellent! Shall I give you a hand putting it on?"

The farmer was ready to reject the offer, but if the thing was even close to some of the plate armor Jack had seen, she'd be here all day putting slapping on buckles and yanking belts. "Sure, Rare."

"You should be fine in your clothing, but please remove your boots and hat."

The farmer complied, kicking off her cowboy boots and gently placing her hat to the side. She stood like a doll, arms extended and held out to her sides and her legs spread. Rarity called her magic forth, levitating the armor and bringing the pieces towards the two.

"I almost never see you without that thing," Rarity said, covering Jack's shin with a piece of the leather and clasping it shut with a small buckle on the back.

"What? Oh, my hat?" Jack questioned. She gave a shrug as Rarity helped her into the thick leather boots. "It was my dad's, so..."

"Say no more, I understand." Rarity nodded. She worked her way up Jack's muscled legs, getting both of her thighs equipped.

Jack briefly shifted around in the boots. The weight felt off compared to her normal pair, like something was added. "Stuff ain't jus' leather, is it?" the farmer asked.

"I'm impressed," Rarity said, rising off of her knees and starting to work on Jack's torso. "I didn't expect that you'd notice. Yes, every individual piece has flattened chainmail weaved into the interior of the leather, alongside a protection charm conjured by yours truly." She huffed after a thought. "While it won't do anything to protect you from a monster like a minotaur, it should at least soften some of the blow a normal man could give you."

"Norfolk are men too—ain't like Will or someone's _all_ that different from us."

"Of course. You know what I mean, dear. I'm sure you instructor is a sweetheart. It's just... he has all that strength. It's hard not to be a bit frightened of him," Rarity replied, reaching around the tall woman's waist as she put the chestpiece on.

Jack could understand the tailor's view on that. Strength like that could scare even the one controlling it. Or, on one occasion, not controlling it.

Rarity locked the buckles at the blonde's back, then briefly returned to how she was a moment ago—her arms held around Jack's stomach. They tightened slightly, speaking the words Rarity didn't need to say. The farmer took her own hand and placed it on top of Rarity's, returning the squeeze. Each stood wordlessly for a moment, simply listening to the muted sounds of a morning well on its way.

"Hey, Rare?"

"Mmm?" she asked.

Jack swallowed. "Ya... ya shouldn't be afraid of someone like Will. O-or someone like me, fer that matter."

"Why would I be scared of you?" Rarity questioned, moving one of her hands to Jack's hair. The tailor brushed the farmer's hair to the side and planted a small kiss on the nape of her neck. Normally Jack would have melted like putty. Right now though? She had to say her piece.

"Because I can do jus' about what Will can, ya know?" Jack briefly broke their embrace and turned, looking into Rarity's blue eyes.

"But you won't," the tailor said.

"Jus' hear me out, sugar." Jack gently held Rarity's wrists. "Ya shouldn't be afraid of _nothin_'. Yer the strongest woman I know—muscles don't mean shit compared ta what ya got inside ya." She gave Rarity's chest a small tap. "A good heart. One willin' ta give jus' about anythin' ta take care of someone. That's real strength right there."

The two stood briefly. Finally, Rarity gave a small shake of her head, embarrassed at the flattery. "Darling, I appreciate the sentiment, but I don't deserve the praise. You're the last person I expected to wax poetic, however."

"Happens 'bout once in a blue moon. Give or take a few years."

The tailor snorted in mirth. She paused, nearly shocked at the unladylike action. Jack smiled in return.

Eventually, Rarity coughed. "...I suppose we should finish getting you dressed—I'm _exceedingly_ curious at how I did. Not that I doubt my ability, of course, this was nothing compared to the nightmare that was last year's Gala in Camelot!"

Rarity gave a small circling gesture towards the farmer; the blonde sighed, but turned around as Rarity levitated a pair of gauntlets the her way. Jack grabbed one and donned it. She flexed her hand, appreciating the tightness of the leather around her knuckles.

Jack's curiosity got the best of her. "So, how'd ya do the chainmail? I figure makin' that would'a taken forever."

"I didn't make it, dear. I'm a tailor for the highest cusp of society, not a blacksmith. I had one of my partners take care of that. He provides metalwork for me quite often—people always clamor for accessories with their clothing, after all."

Jack donned the other gauntlet as Rarity worked on the shoulder-pads.

"How'd ya know my measurements, anyway?"

The tailor offered a cunning smirk. "I've been in this profession for a few years now, darling. I know a thing or two about estimating sizes. Besides... I can say your body is _quite_ memorable."

Jack felt heat radiate throughout her face—her bronzed skin turned a dark shade of crimson. "Uh..." she trailed off, struck dumb once again by the violet-haired beauty.

"You're so easy to tease!" Rarity tittered, her laugh sounding as lovely as a chime on a gentle breeze to the farmer's ears.

_Get outta here, _Jack thought. _Yer startin' ta think like some girly poet._

"Well, Rare. If ya don't mind, I reckon I'mma mosey fer a bit—I wanna get this broke in." Jack gave a wide, ear-to-ear grin, showcasing her white teeth and briefly seeming to be more innocent child than woman. "Thanks again, sug. I love it."

"It was nothing, darling. I mean it. I simply hope it helps you."

They moved towards the door, heading back to the lobby.

"Just as well that you need to depart—I've got a busy day today." She let out a breath of air up over her face, briefly lifting her coiffed hair. "Between clients and school assignments, I feel quite stretched out as of late. I barely have enough time for myself, it seems."

"But ya had enough time fer this," Jack said, gesturing down her body.

"Of _course_ I did, dear. Heavens, I don't want to see you hurt again, after all."

The farmer leaned forward, giving a small peck on top of Rarity's head. "Well, jus' keep some time fer yerself. Ain't no need fer ya ta go crazy worryin' an' loadin' stuff onto yer back. Lord knows I learned that firsthand." Jack opened the front door and stepped out. "Well, I'll see ya soon, sugar."

"Mmm," Rarity agreed, nodding.

"An' Rare?"

"Yes, Jack?" the tailor replied, leaning against the doorframe.

"Well... was thinkin'... maybe sometime this week..." Jack rubbed the back of her neck, suddenly looking incredibly sheepish. She cleared her throat. "I mean—ya know. S-sometime when we both ain't busy we could... could..."

"Try again?" the violet-haired beauty coyly suggested.

"G-good way ta put it."

Rarity smirked, her violet-hued lips almost too much for Jack to handle. "Well, I despise denying your advances, but I am booked solid for at least a few days. I have deadlines advancing on me with reckless abandon, alongside a few appointments I need to take care of. However, you have my word that when I have time..." Her smirk turned devilish, hungry. "You won't be able to keep me away, _darling_."

Jack felt a shiver run along her spine at Rarity's words; she nervously grinned back.

_Fer God's sake, move yer legs, ya dingus, _she mentally chided herself, turning and walking down the pathway towards a side-street of St. Charles. She squinted at the sunlight rising just over the sleepy town's roofs.

A small part of her suggested that she return to the academy—classes were starting fairly soon, and if she missed her math class one more time, the teacher was going to be _pissed_.

The bigger part of her remembered that she hadn't even touched her homework, so going there was a pointless endeavor. Jack chose the obvious winner here and trekked towards Sugar Cube Corner, intending to get a muffin or something to start the day off with. If she was going to blow off class, she'd at least blow off class on a sated stomach.

She came from one of the side-roads and onto Ponyville's main strip, still dead as a doornail thanks to the early time. As she turned left to head towards the bakery, something caught her ear. She listened closer. A harmonica playing a slow blues tune.

Curiosity got the best of her; Jack crossed the street, heading towards the sound.

Her amble lead her to a pond on the town's outskirts, where a white-haired woman sat cross-legged at the water's edge. Her brown hands carefully held the harmonica, her eyes squinted shut as she concentrated and balanced a slice of half-torn bread on one knee—a victim of the ducks placidly swimming the pond's surface, perhaps.

The farmer recognized the woman—she was the showboating archer Jack saw a few days prior. With a shrug, the blonde approached. "Mornin', Gilda. It _is_ Gilda, right?"

The archer stopped playing instantly, her steely yellow eyes looking hard at the farmer. With a breath through her teeth she replied. "Who's asking?"

Jack blinked. "Uh, Jack. Jack Apple." She offered her hand, used to aloof business introductions enough that she remembered her manners. Gilda looked at the hand offered to her, looked back at the farmer's face, then seemed to relax, returning her gaze to the pond. Jack rolled her eyes, letting her hand drop limply to her side.

"Will says you've got a hellava swing."

Jack tilted her head slightly. "Didn't know the big guy talked 'bout me much."

It wasn't much, but Jack could almost see the ghost of a smile on Gilda's mouth. "He might mention you on occasion." The archer reached into her bomber jacket pocket, pulling out a pack of cigarettes. She offered one to Jack.

"Nah. Quit."

Gilda grunted and lit up. "I assume you're not here to show off the gear you're wearing. What do you want?" She turned her head to face the tall woman.

"Want?" Jack repeated. "I ain't wantin' nothin'. Jus' heard a harmonica. Curious ta see who was playin'."

"Well, you know now," the white-haired woman bluntly answered, returning her attentions back to the water.

The farmer could tell Gilda wasn't interested in talking—that was fine. In fact, Jack debated just calling it quits. Wasn't any skin off her back.

_I think it makes her lonely, in a way._

Jack paused at the thought. Will might have had a point the other day. A part of her didn't care regardless, but...

"So..." the freckled woman trailed off, rocking on the balls of her feet. "Ya come here often?"

"No." The pond turned silent once more, Jack with nothing to carry on for small-talk, Gilda feeling like nothing else needed saying. Finally, the archer rolled her eyes and continued the conversation. "Usually prefer the hot-springs."

"Hot springs?" Jack repeated. Gilda tilted her head east.

"At the school grounds. Little pond on the opposite side of the stables."

"Well I'll be. I might have ta try one sometime."

"Good luck. They've got it divided. Most of the stalls are one person and they're usually booked pretty tight." She took another heavy drag from her cigarette and watched the smoke wisp away in the air. She seemed hesitant to talk again. Right before Jack was going to excuse herself, Gilda spoke.

"Hey, uh, Apple?"

"Mmm?"

Gilda took out the smoke from her mouth and briefly lined it up straight across the horizon. She stared down the cigarette with the same cold calculation and analytical thought that made her such a frightening archer. "Your roommate Isabelle?"

Jack raised her brow. "Isabe—Oh, right. Eyup. Dash is mine."

"...Do me a favor, hick. Tell her I want to talk. No strings, no games, just words."

"What do ya need ta-"

"None of your damn business!" Gilda shot back, her open-toothed scowl showing off unusually sharp teeth. "Get her here!"

Jack's hand clenched involuntary into a fist as Gilda shouted—for a moment, the farmer thought the other would snap.

Gilda frowned and took a few calming breaths. After another beat, she finished. "Just... _please_."

The farmer looked Gilda over. After a beat, she shrugged. "Yeah," Jack agreed. "I'll give her the message next time I see her. Promise."

The brown-skinned woman briefly smiled. It didn't reach her eyes, but Jack thought it seemed sincere enough. "Thanks."

"Eyup." The blonde nodded, leaving the pond without another sound.

000

The farmer returned to school and spent a few hours tending to the animals at the stables, earning a few curious looks from the stablemen as she broke in her equipment. Jack then went for a brisk jog through the school grounds. Once that was said and done, the farmer briefly returned to her room, stripping off the suit of armor and feeling like a free woman in her button-up shirt, jeans and spare boots. Lunchtime finally came; Jack remembered she had promised to eat with Twila today.

It wasn't more than five minutes later that she entered the crowded lunch hall and searched across the dozens of tables for a lock of purple hair. She craned over the throng of students wandering the room, using her height to her advantage—Jack finally spotted the woman at one of the corner tables, sitting alongside Chylene, Pinkie and Dash, like usual. The farmer made her way over and took a seat next to the rainbow-haired woman.

"Howdy, y'all. Sorry I'm late."

"Geez, where you been? Was itching to do some running, bro," Dash said. She yawned, clearly just now facing the day.

"Had ta check up on Rare, then did some odds-an'-ends stuff. Ya know how it goes."

Isabelle gave a disinterested flap of her hand. "Yeah, yeah. I hear you, hayseed."

The farmer put a finger to her brow and paused, noting something was amiss. "Aw, hogwash. Fergot I left my hat at Rarity's."

"Well, I think you look nice without the hat," Chylene quietly offered, smiling kindly.

"Totally! Fantaborino!" Pinkie giggled, nodding. Twila simply ran her spoon around in her quickly cooling soup, clearly distracted.

Jack raised her brow. "Uh, somethin' the matter, Twi?"

"I'm worried," Twila plainly replied. "The princesses are coming in a few days and-"

"You don't have to worry! Turn that frowney upside-downey! Just relax! It's not like they're critiquing you!" Pinkie gave a snorting giggle. "I mean, remember the last time you panicked about them visiting for a whole night?" Her gaze turned serious. "I don't want this to be another 'Thrush incident.'"

Dash shivered. "Real talk? I _still_ get nightmares about what happened to that cat."

"What cat?" Jack questioned. The table ignored her.

"It's something more serious than that, Pinkie." Twila then added in a grumble, "Though I thought we all agreed to not speak about the 'Thrush incident' ever again."

"What cat?" Jack asked again.

"Someone's been stealing plant samples from the biology lab." Twila ran a thumb along her dark cheek. "I think there might be an attempt at poisoning the royal line."

Jack put her cat questions to the side. "What? How does stealin' plants lead ya ta regicide?"

A silence settled over the table. Twila scratched her head. Chylene had shrunk, nearly disappearing into the yellow turtleneck she wore. Pinkie let out a snort of laughter, and Dash quirked a brow.

"What?" The bronzed woman asked, perplexed.

"Regicide, bro? When did you start speaking like the egghead?" Dash questioned, nodding her head towards a mildly irritated Twila.

"I know jus' as many fancy words as y'all!" Jack countered. A pause. "An' I may of bought a word-a-day calender over the weekend."

"Anyway..." Twila started with a quick glance everyone's way. "I made the connection between the stolen plants—they all have some form of toxin in them. Curarine, mandrake root, weaverleaf..." She rapped her fingers on the polished wooden table briefly, then pushed up her glasses along the bridge of her nose. "I have a feeling that the next and possibly last target should be magesbane."

Jack shared a glance with everyone present. "Now, I don't know nothin' 'bout these herbs an' spices that got stolen but-"

"Heh, almost makes it sound delicious," Dash grunted.

"Whatever." The tall woman shrugged. "Anyway, ain't magesbane sorta an anti-magic weed or somethin'? I think one of my family's friends made a potion with that when we had a timberwolf infestation last zapapple season. She dabbed it 'round our property line, an' the things didn't cross the woods by our house."

"Intriguing. I'd presume the nullifying powers in the magesbane would work quite well at preventing a magically created creature like timberwolves..." The dark-skinned woman put a thumb to her chin in thought. "I wonder if that potion mixture is anything like the Firstborn ward used in the ancient times of the Egyptians?"

"We're getting off track here." Dash frowned. "So magesbane is a magic suppressant, right? What about the other three plants?"

"Curare plant... has, um, turbocurarine," Chylene quietly whispered. "T-that's a skeletal muscle relaxant. Stops automatic functions l-like breathing." She looked down at her fidgeting hands. "Some norfolk used it to hunt animals. S-saw it once. Poor thing. If I didn't have my BVM, that poor deer would have been dead in minutes."

"Damn, Chy. Someone's making us look bad—you've got brains on you." Dash smirked, watching the pink-haired girl blush. "So, we're looking pretty obvious, so far, bros. Whoever is stealing those plants wants the person they're targeting unable to cast magic and helpless. That's about the only way you'd take out an all-folk." Dash nodded. "Add on being temporally deafened by 'drake root and blinded by weaverleaf... you're not doing shit for at least an hour or two. Long enough to take care of what you want."

"Why not jus' kill 'em? It's be easier."

The Ritter gave pause. "Unless they're wanting to send a message, maybe?"

Twila's eyes sparked in a sudden thought. "Or they're wanting to send one of the princesses to the Dreamscape."

The others swapped looks.

"I have no idea what that is!" Pinkie announced with enthusiasm. "But it sounds kinda nice!"

The purple-haired woman blinked. "Oh, right. I forget sometimes that Rarity's the only other soul-folk in our group." Twila took off her glasses and breathed on the lenses, then took to cleaning them with a handkerchief from the breast pocket of her jacket. "The Dreamscape is... hmm... do any of you know what lucid dreaming is?"

"W-where you're able to control your dreams?" Chylene guessed. "I-I think, anyway."

"Correct. Think of the Dreamscape as a way for soul-folk to lucid dream while awake—a daydream, if you will."

"A daydream? Seems like a pretty nice thing ta send the princesses to, compared ta jus' straight out killin' 'em."

"Not quite. I believe the assailant may subjugate either or both of them to mental torture by sending them to the Dreamscape helpless." Twila chewed on her thumbnail, frowning worriedly. "I couldn't imagine visiting the place without the comfort of knowing I could escape it as I pleased."

Jack shook her head. "Sounds more an' more like a terrible idea ta visit the place. Why would ya?"

"A multitude of reasons, Jack. For starters, it allows you to experiment with destructive spells without burning your home into char. You keep your physical and magical ability, so it's a fantastic way to gauge strength. Some visit in order to gain tranquility. The Dreamscape can take you to many beautiful lands—it's all a matter of how you focus. I know several who enter it in order to reflect and calm their hearts." She offered a small smile. "My favorite reason for projecting myself there is to study. It is quite the fount of information."

Jack could feel another one of her Twila-induced headaches coming on. "So it's like yer steppin' inta yer brain fer a stroll, right? Like, yer body's still here."

"Correct. Like lucid dreaming."

She scratched the back of her head. "Uh... OK. How in the sam hill do ya study in somethin' like that? Like, I can't say I've ever had a dream that gave me time ta read a book."

"It's _lucid_ dreaming, Jack. You can do almost anything with it, provided you're in the right mindset. Not to mention it's a sort of passive magic in and of itself."

The farmer smirked. "So, like, do ya carry 'round a bookbag or somethin' while yer thinkin', or, uh, dreamin', or whatever?"

"Don't be silly," Twila scolded. "I go to the library inside my mansion."

Jack blinked, waiting for a punchline. "Do what now?"

"When I enter the Dreamscape, I always envision myself standing in a garden behind my mansion."

"So all yer dreams start out the same?"

"All my Dreamscape travels, yes. There's a difference between normal dreams and Dreamscape trances. Soul-folk have to sleep like everyone else, after all."

The blonde winced, her head hurting. Twila continued.

"So I simply wave hello to my butler Wadsworth, travel up the second flight of stairs, and enter the library." She took a sip of her tepid soup. "I then search the shelves, which I have organized alphabetically by title, genre and author." She paused. "I need to resort some of the books, next time I visit."

"Aw, geez. Anyone got some aspirin? All this mumbo-jumbo magic crap is givin' me a headache."

"It's not that bad, hayseed. The book thing actually reminds me of a memory trick people use. They think of a house and fill the rooms inside with mementos. You just think about what you need and..." Dash shrugged. "But that only gets you so far. Your stuff's the same, right? Just sorta appetizers on memories, rather than the full course. I mean, you're an egghead, but still."

"No, Isabelle. It's pretty extensive." Twila shrugged. "I mean, I don't write everything I see or do in there, but I am pleased to say I have an exceptionally large spell compendium."

"Come on. Even with a photographic memory, I'm sure thin-"

Twila's eyes squinted shut for a few seconds. When they opened, the dark-skinned woman pointed at Isabelle.

The effect was instantiations. Her multichromatic hair instantly lost its vibrant colors, turning raven black. It then proceeded to grow and increase in volume, first reaching past Pinkie's modest head of hair, then flowing past Jack's casual ponytail, and finally settling on Chylene's long, thigh-length hair.

Dash paused, running an unbelieving finger through the silken bangs, then glaring over at the slyly grinning scholar. Her eyebrow twitched in irritation.

"That was eight spells I haven't touched in years. Every color had to be adjusted to black—I couldn't just change the whole thing. Thankfully, I simply entered the Dreamscape, ran upstairs, and looked up 'H' for 'hair.'"

"Ok, ok, you made your point. _Fix_ this."

"With pleasure." A snap of her fingers, and Isabelle's vibrant colors returned, starting at the roots and spreading out. Her hair began slowly retreating upward.

"Actually," Dash quickly said. "Give me, eh... two inches more than I started out with."

A small disinterested flick of a finger from Twila canceled the retraction, leaving the athlete with hair that fell halfway down her neck in the back and kissed her rose eyes in front.

"Yo, Pinkie, got a compact on you?"

"Indeedaly-doodaly!" The bubbly lady slid her mirror over. Dash looked into it, cracking a smug half grin.

"Aw yeah... lookin' like a friggin' gold mine here." Dash put a hand to her chin and looked at her face from different angles. "Heh. Classy as fu-"

"-So ya get an' entire library in yer noggin' thanks ta that Dreamscape thingy, right?" Jack asked, addressing Twila.

"To really simplify it all: yes."

The blonde scowled. "Man, I'd kill fer one of them durin' a test."

"Unfortunately, the classrooms here have a ward installed that informs teachers when a student enters the Dreamscape. Shame, too, it would have been quite a boon when I was tested on the world's countries." Twila smiled. "Regardless, there are a lot of benefits to the Dream." Her smile faded. "A lot of scary things too."

"How so? Ain't ya in control?"

Twila pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose. "Except when we're not. Dreams can quickly turn to nightmares if you enter the world under adverse effects or moods."

"So if ya got blinded and deafened, then were forced ta enter..."

"You'd have better luck navigating a hydra's nest blindfolded," she finished. "The lack of stimuli would quite possibly drive a person mad, especially if they were trapped for longer than a few moments."

"Damn. That plant thief means business," Jack concluded. She leaned forward on the table, narrowing her eyes. "Shame we're gonna be too. Ain't no way they're hurtin' 'em. I swear it."

Twila nodded. "I'm taking place in a watch tonight—hopefully we'll apprehend the person if they try to get a sample of magesbane. If not... I'm counting on you to protect the throne."

"You got it, egghead," Dash said with a nod. "No way in hell anyone's getting past us."

000

Twila took another sip of coffee as she sat against the wall of the botany department, the crickets chirping outside the room's windows the only company she had at the moment. With a sigh, she looked around the room, noting the desks in neat rows to her left, and row after row of glass displays filled with various flora from across the far reaches of Cabello's lands to her right.

It had been a long, uneventful night so far, the shift before hers ending at one 'o' clock, and she had been here for—she reached into her jacket, producing a pocketwatch—two and a half hours. Twila groaned in irritation. She knew that it was imperative that they didn't let magesbane fall into the wrong hands, but she was starting to assume that the thief had caught wind of the watches Twila and a few other soul-folk she trusted had been doing for the past week. Granted, the old adage of 'no news is good news' was quite true—if the thief never showed up, he'd be missing an important ingredient for the poison.

_Provided he really _is _wanting to send Celestia or Luna into a coma_. She only touched for a moment on the thought; they were all-folk, the magic that swam in their bodies would be more than enough to fight off blindness caused by a venom—that same thing could be said about deafness and paralysis. There would be absolutely no way a natural toxin could pierce their constitutions. Magesbane would be required for any true harm to take hold of the princesses. The thief had to come here, and he had to do it tonight.

It's the reason she volunteered to be the last on watch tonight. If he was still planning to get the magesbane, he might be desperate enough to hurt someone. Though Twila was loath to fight, if it meant keeping Celestia and Luna safe, she'd do it in a heartbeat.

With that in mind she made a quick gesture and thought of a command word; the colors of her skin and clothing shifted, turning nearly translucent. She leaned back against a cabinet and patiently waited, stopping only briefly to turn around and look out the second story window directly behind her, taking a slight amount of solace at the full, engorged moon in the starry sky. She yawned, covering her mouth with the back of her hand as a ceiling fan lazily spun above her. If he was going to strike, it'd be in moments—Twila was certain. Four'o'clock was one of the most opportune times to initiate an attack against someone—the target would almost always be disoriented by sleep, or lack thereof.

The violet-haired woman checked the time again. Eight minutes since the last time she checked. Twila was just about to groan in frustration, when out of the corner of her eye, she noticed a mist slowly filtering underneath the door to her left.

_An alteration spell? Would explain how he was able to get into the room, perhaps._

Twila kept an eye on the gathering mist as it slowly spilled out from the door, a condensing cloud that began to take shape.

Twila thought of a few brief command words and gave a subtle gesture with her off hand, while holding a palm out with her right. She felt an invisible weight land on her hand. It wasn't much, but a force sphere could certifiably knock out a tooth or two. Just as soon as the mist took shape, she'd launch it. It was just a matter of-

A crash from behind showered her with broken glass. Twila had barely moved when she felt a hard kick land at her back. She stumbled forward and landed on her knees, her spell lost from the interruption. The dark-skinned woman squinted her eyes shut and summoned the strength to rise. When she opened them, she found herself in another world.

Gone were the desks and samples—even the classroom had vanished. Instead, she found herself in a misty, obscured autumn forest with dozens, if not hundreds of trees in every direction.

_A teleportation spell?! No way! That can't be_—she stopped that train of thought and mentally kicked herself in the head. She was worrying about something exceedingly illogical. Now wasn't the time to panic, she instead thought it over as she scanned the forest, paranoid at being this open.

Teleporting an unwilling person was something that required an exorbitant amount of magic—Twila could do it, just barely. Even if she had been transported to an unknown place, the caster would be dead tired.

_Which is why it's not a teleportation spell. Listen. _Twila briefly focused, cupping a hand to her ear.

The blowing of wind. The sound of leaves scraping through the treeline. Footsteps skulking behind the trees.

The low-key white noise of something powered by soul-folk created electricity. Like a ceiling fan.

An illusion spell. She should have guessed.

"You can cancel the spell. I know you didn't transport me anywhere," Twila announced to the forest, clenching her hands into fists.

"A shame," a deep man's voice answered. "It would have been better for me if you had drained your magic with a futile spell." She heard footsteps behind her; Twila turned and was greeted by the sight of a large, scarred man in a bomber's jacket and a bandana covering his bald head. She could feel magic radiating from his being.

"Hiding behind an alteration spell too?"

"Of course," he answered in a chipper tone, taking a few steps towards Twila. "It wouldn't be wise to reveal the performer before the show. I changed my body and speech mannerisms for just such an occasion." He gave a smug smirk. "As you're well aware, the alteration only lasts for about an hour, so I really should get moving. Do nothing, and I suppose I'll let you live."

Twila conjured her force orb once more and stood defiantly towards the man. He gave a sigh and a theatrical roll of his eyes.

"Then I suppose you die. Scream, if you have to."

He held his palm out and a small orange orb about the size of a pea appeared, levitating an inch away from the center of his hand. It rapidly expanded, covering his entire palm, then swallowing his fingers and wrist. The bald man brought the sphere back, then launched both his hands forward, propelling it towards Twila.

Her mind quickly ran through the situation, thundering through multiple scenarios faster than many people could speed read.

_Fireball. Conjuration spell that burns on average up to 260 degrees Celsius on contact with anything it touches. On impact, it expands to upwards of 9.15 meters. Dodge to the side? No. Flame explodes behind me, gives assailant time to attack from both angles. Counterspell? Perhaps. Would involve me losing my force sphere but—_her eyes widened. She held her hand out and launched her own sphere, connecting with the fireball. The moment before it impacted, she made a wide, circular gesture with both of her palms across her body; thick, heavy walls of ice launched upwards from the ground, cocooning her inside a protective sphere just as the flames shot forward.

Her dark world was bombarded with a sharp hiss as her ice fortress melted under the flames. As soon as she knew the fireball had dissipated, she cast a small teleportion spell, popping outside the shell just as the man had charged forward, his hands shape-shifted into spears. He plunged both of his morphed hands into the ice, then roared in frustration on seeing Twila outside of the object.

The spears at the ends of his arms shifted, retreating, becoming squat and wide. In a heartbeat, the squat mess shifted outward and became hands again.

He stared hard at Twila. The scholar returned the favor; both instantly took to making gestures with their hands; the man rigidly putting his hands together in prayer, and Twila wildly tracing an Alpha symbol in the air. From the dark-skinned woman's hands, a powerful wind launched out, sending the falling leaves whipping like daggers along the way. The wind slammed into the bald, pale man, but had no effect. He stood proudly, silently mocking the other for attempting a spell.

The bald man sprinted forward, with him came heavy iron footsteps and an unusual sheen on his body.

It dawned on Twila why he wasn't affected by a gust that could level houses.

_Iron skin—impressive. No wonder that spell didn't bowl him over. _She ran through what she could do to stop something like this and froze.

Lightning. She gave the smallest nod at her spell selection, and tried to think of the mental command words and hand gestures associated with the spell. She scowled, coming up dry; Twila hadn't used an electric spell for months now, and she certainly didn't have enough time to enter the Dreamscape and look it up—the very thought of doing something that left her vulnerable for even a moment against another soul-folk was foolish. She'd have to improvise.

When the man closed the distance to about fifteen feet, Twila gestured upward with a tense palm. A small, rounded column of earth shot upwards, hitting the man's shin as he dashed forward. He stumbled, landing on the ground with a heavy crash.

Using a sewing motion with her hands, Twila conjured vines from the ground—they quickly entangled the man with the bomber jacket, pinning him to the ground.

Enhanced strength from iron skin or not, Twila was confident that he was staying there unless he utilized a spell of some sort. If that happened, the dark skinned woman was sure it'd turn into a war of attrition—a field where Twila would have the advantage. She had been keeping her spells as simple and low-key as possible in order to conserve her powers, a stark contrast to the bald man.

The violet-haired woman looked down at her opponent. "Give up. A head-on attempt is foolish," Twila stated, frowning deeply.

"You're right," he readily admitted, smiling without a trace of humor. "Shame this is a doppelganger."

Before Twila could respond, the forest illusion they were under vanished, wiped clean from her visual slate. The absence of the illusion spell occupying her senses alerted her to the rest of the room. The smell of burnt wood from the desks, the breeze blowing inside from the carriage-sized hole in the wall, the busted tiles where her vines had sprung up.

The woman heard a loud noise—broken glass. She turned, snarling when she saw the man, holding a pot with a magesbane sample in one hand, and a clear, translucent sphere of energy in his other. Without taking his eyes off her, the man shot the force ball. It connected hard on Twila's chest, knocking her off her feet and blasting her out the hole in the wall.

The man smiled as he casually walked towards the classroom's door, listening to Twila's scream as she plunged down two stories.

While normally he'd take this moment to gloat, the bald man knew he needed to leave and leave now. Not only was the alteration spell on its last legs, but he could already hear the footsteps of several people sprinting down the hallway towards the botany department—a magic duel never went unnoticed, even by mud-folk.

He was fine with that—as a performer, it was his duty to get noticed.

With a bow to a crowd that had yet to arrive, he channeled his magic into a teleportation spell. As soon as he finished the mental command words, pain, unlike any he had felt in his years, assaulted him from his neck, all the way to a needle point at the forehead. He bit hard onto his lip, silencing the screams he was sure he'd utter otherwise.

The man in the bomber jacket heard the footsteps growing closer and closer, slapping the linoleum flooring in haste.

He had to go and he had to go now, mental limits be dammed. The man concentrated, clutching the pot of magesbane tightly to his chest, thinking of somewhere, _anywhere_ that wasn't here. His brain finally made the connection and he disappeared with a loud pop just as a group rounded the corner.

The man groaned in pain as he lay on the rooftop of the school, every part of him sore, aching agony. He weakly ran a hand to his brow, feeling more drained than he ever remembered feeling—completely listless and weary from the strain of using his powers beyond normal limits. The man felt a wetness come from his left eye and roll down a cheek. He swallowed and brought a hand to it, looking it over. A dark crimson stained his fingertips.

Blood.

The man gave an unbelieving shake of his head. Apparently he was closer to the grave than he thought—one was fixable with just a large amount of bedrest and no magic for a few days, but both eyes were almost always a death sentence.

He sighed, refusing to dwell on it. All he had to do now was wait for the alteration spell to wear off. The built man ran a hand over his dome, pausing when he felt a thin tuft of white hair at the back of his skull.

It was already happening.

He stood, putting the magesbane to the side. His hair grew, covering his head and thickening until it reached his shoulders. The man had an odd feeling in his gut as his body shrunk several inches and his arms thinned out. His face became less chiseled, turning feminine just as his hips expanded slightly outward and his stomach pinched in, each making an audible crack as the bones rearranged and pitched him forward, stumbling on his narrowing feet as his center of gravity changed. It didn't hurt, but it felt bizarre. As bizarre as two mounds of flesh sprouting from his chest and expanding, filling the width of his small hands. Finally, his groin pulled tight against his pelvis, disappearing into itself with a small popping sound.

A few more minor adjustments to the body and Trixie finally stood, kicking off her oversized pants and wearing the large bomber jacket around her body like it was a heavy dress. She briefly scrunched her face and clenched her hands—alteration spells were always so strange to adjust back from. Granted, it was easier changing from a man back to a woman than, say, the time she changed from a rat and back. She had caught a reflection of herself in a mirror during that one. No matter how Great and Powerful she was, that brief glimpse mid-transformation had made her shriek like a child.

She kicked off her now too-large shoes and walked barefoot towards her prize. She smiled wickedly. The magesbane was the final piece to her mixture. With it, she would have an almost embarrassingly easy time trapping who she wanted in the Dreamscape. Trixie still didn't understand why Dorcas had ordered her not to hurt the woman, but as long as that man kept her swimming in bits, it didn't really matter what he wanted.

The soul-folk smirked, picking up the magesbane and walking to the edge of the roof. She took to patrolling the parameter, until she saw the hole Twila had blown out below her. Trixie chuckled to herself and looked towards the ground, hoping to find the remains of Celestia's favored. Her smirk disappeared as she searched the area.

Nothing. Not even a bloodstain. It was like that worthless excuse of a soul-folk had vanished off the face of the earth.

_She got a teleportation spell off,_ Trixie concluded in thought, her scowl intensifying.

"How?!" the white-haired woman whispered to herself, instinctively tightening the bomber jacket she wore. After a beat, she relaxed slightly, a bitter, jaw-clenching headache pounding in her temples from her overuse of magic.

_That's alright, though,_ Trixie thought, calming down amidst the constant beat of pain against her skull.

Even if that gutter-trash had pulled off a spell under that much duress, the strain of a near-death experience would wear on the other, preventing her from any real heroics.

All she had to do now was spend the day doing a little bit of chemistry and the rest would sort itself. Her boss would be happy, she'd have enough money to live like royalty, it'd be win-win.

With a smile, she walked along the rooftop, looking for an easy spot to drop down to. Tonight, the curtain would rise, and the show would start.


	14. Honor and Duty

Dash was up and dressed as soon as Jack came out of her morning shower. The farmer raised her brow as she vigorously wiped her hair dry.

"Mornin' sunshine, yer up early."

The Ritter rubbed her bloodshot eyes. "Will ran in here while you were in the john. He's flipping sh-" She yawned, covering her large mouth with a fist. "Shit. He's been barging into everyone's rooms and telling them to meet him at the track."

Jack moved to the chest of drawers and threw on a pair of pants. "Already? Dang. Wanted ta get a bite ta eat first."

"No time, bro. Princesses are already here, I guess."

Jack froze, the zipper halfway up on her jeans. "W-what? B-but they-"

"They showed up early."

Jack clumsily finished donning her britches, then focused on putting on a shirt. She quickly buttoned herself up, then scowled when she realized she was off on her buttons. She undid the shirt and started down again.

"Take it easy, hayseed. They're not gonna be any less here if you rush."

The blonde took a breath, methodically finishing getting dressed as Dash took a glance over at the new addition to the room, resting in a pile at the foot of Jack's bed.

"What's with the suit, by the by? You were _totally_ passed out when I got in last night, so..." Dash asked, giving a nod with her head towards the leather armor.

"Gift from Rare."

"Leather, huh? It, uh, actually work?"

Jack gave an incredulous look Dash's way. "Ain't like I go about tryin' ta get stabbed. I dunno how well it'll do."

"For the love of—you don't have to be _wearing_ it when you try it out, dummy."

"Jus' makin' a joke. I ain't _that_ stupid, sug." She rolled her eyes.

"Need a hand getting it on?" Isabelle asked, yawning once more.

"If yer offerin', pardner," Jack conceded, picking up the pieces and tossing them onto the bed. She started on her gauntlets. "Dunno how people stand all these belts an' crap. Drives me nuttier than a squirrel's house durin' winter."

"Takes some practice," Dash agreed, moving to grab her boots and leg guards. "Still takes me about ten minutes to gear up, and I've been doing it for a couple years now."

"Mmm," the farmer grunted, continuing the tedious task.

They each worked in silence for a moment, until a thought came to Jack's mind.

"Aw hogwash, fergot ta tell ya somethin' yesterday: ya know Gilda?"

The athlete froze briefly, then shrugged. "Might."

"Bumped inta her the other day, said she wanted ta jaw."

Dash paused. "She wanted to _what_?"

"Jaw. Ya know, talk?" Jack replied, acting like it was the simplest thing in the world.

"Oh. Well, she wants a lot I ain't gonna do," Dash cooly snapped back, tugging hard at the belts of Jack's vestment.

The other quirked a brow. "Ya got a, uh, _history_ with her, I take it?"

Dash tilted her hand left and right. "Bit closer than me and you guys, not quite at you and Rarity level, you dig?" She shrugged after another pause. "You know how it goes, man. Stuff happened."

"Stuff?"

"Yeah." Dash breathed out, lifting her multi-hued bangs from her eyes. "Gilda did some shit behind my back. Said some words to Chylene too—made the girl cry."

Jack thought briefly about their timid friend. "Jus' 'bout everythin' does, though. Hell, I'm pretty sure I've done it after speakin' too loud when she didn't know I was around."

"That's different," Dash argued, putting the finishing touches on Jack's gear. "She was a jerk to my friends. I don't play that game." She looked over Jack. "There. Got you ready to rock."

Jack did a quick glance over herself. She put her thumb to her index finger, making a circle, and nodded. "Thanks."

"No problemo." Dash did an about-face, turning towards the door. "I'm gonna head towards the meeting grounds—got my gear stashed nearby with some of the others. Don't take too long, hayseed."

"Won't. Jus' gonna brush my teeth—see ya there."

Isabelle nodded, opening the door and stepping out into the hallway, leaving Jack alone with her thoughts.

The farmer went to the bathroom sink and splashed cold water on her face, trying to pump herself up. She was nervous—not like guarding royalty was a common thing for her; what if she screwed up? Lord knew that Camelot folks just about swam in etiquette and protocols, and while the last time she had met the princesses they were considerate and fairly laid-back, working for them might be a whole different ballgame. Groaning, Jack, killed the water and headed to the foot of her bed out of habit. The farmer stopped when she realized her trusty stetson was missing off the corner of her footrest, but quickly shut the panic down when she remembered it was with Rarity at the boutique. Jack made a note to grab it tomorrow and headed out the door, doing her best to relax her frayed nerves.

000

Will stood at the forefront of a handful of his students when Jack arrived, apparently telling them a story or two, judging by his wide smile. He noticed Jack walking towards them and gave a wave, stepping across the track and onto the grass.

"Apple!" Will addressed, beaming. He put his hands to his sides and nodded. "Just the woman I wanted to see!" He looked her over, eying her armor. "Not too bad. Didn't expect you for a leather gal, but whatever works. Custom job?"

Jack rubbed at her arm. "Uh, yeah. Kinda was, I guess."

"Cool." He gave a thumbs-up then began walking. Jack followed in step. "Got big news for you! Hell, I got _two_ pieces of big news for you!" He held out an index finger. "First: Got a norfolk weapon en-route on the train system. Supposed to be here tomorrow, but, _trust your work to a transit man, and odds are you'll find yourself canned!_"

"An' the other?"

He stopped abruptly, pointing a thumb hard into his chest. "A fight for the history books."

Jack blinked. "A fight? Who?"

Will slapped his chest with a fist.

"And?"

"The lady of the night, Apple!"

Jack took a beat to process that. "'Lady of the night?' W-wait. Are ya talkin' 'bout Luna?"

"Sure ain't a hooker!" He grinned, then paused with a frown, adding under his breath. "Poor Luna, having that title before it became synonymous with prostitution."

"So yer tellin' me yer gonna fight an all-folk?"

He scratched at his beard. "Of course I am. Why?"

"Ya don't get it? All-folk's got all kinds-a things goin' fer 'em. Flyin', magic, hell, strength even." Jack looked at Iron Will out of the corner of her eye. "I mean, yer a tough one, hoss, but..."

The giant crossed his arms, keeping an even stare. "But...?"

Jack's brows furrowed. "But yer jus' a man, Will. Folks like us ain't exactly got a bag-a-tricks ta use."

Will sternly shook his head. "Apple... we're square pegs heading toward round holes."

The farmer paused. "I, uh, don't get it."

He rubbed at his mouth, then gestured toward Jack. "Round pegs fit into their slot without a hitch. Square pegs? Only way they're making it is through effort—by force. It takes work, but it can be done." The scarred man looked toward the treeline up north. "Wings and spells don't make a man. Never have, never will."

Jack shrugged. "Might not make a man, but they sure as hell help 'em out."

He sternly turned to face her. "Then you work twice as hard as them. Hell, just by watching you in training, I know you're not the kind to shy from work."

She offered a lopsided smile, just as the sound of wings crept up behind her. Jack glanced over. Isabelle stood, covered from her neck down in heavy, rounded steel armor. The Ritter gave a wink on seeing Jack's face.

"I know, I know. Awesome," Dash dismissed smugly, giving a wave of her hand and smirking.

"Ain't it a bit heavy fer ya, twig?"

"Twig?" Dash bristled, putting her hands to her hips. "Better than being a thunder thighs."

Jack narrowed her eyes and tersely smirked. "That a fat joke or somethin'?"

"Ladies!" Iron Will barked, snapping them both to attention. "Enough," he ordered in a more subdued tone. He glanced between the two. "Now, you going to behave yourselves?"

"Yeah, yeah," Dash said with a roll of her eyes. "Better win this time, though."

He frowned. "Last time was a fluke. I misheard a word she said—was expecting a different spell than she actually conjured. This time I'm evening the score." He turned, starting to walk away.

Jack blinked, then quickly went after him on foot as Dash conjured her wings and took to lazily flying next Will.

"Yer tellin' me you've fought her before?"

"Have several times since we were in the war together. Luna's told me I'm the only one she's ever fought that can stand ground against her." The man looked down, briefly in thought. "Hoping you might hold ground against her some day too," he added under his breath.

"What was that?" Jack asked. "Didn't hear ya."

"Nothing worth repeating, Apple. Forget it."

The trio walked in silence for a minute, until they arrived at a pristine, well-kept field at the edge of the school grounds. About fifty feet away was Luna, knelt down and seeming to be in a deep meditative pose as she clutched a spear tightly in her hands and silently mouthed words to herself.

To their right, a good eighty feet from them, was Celestia, standing tall in her armor as white as new-fallen snow, the mighty Excalibur sheathed loosely at her side. Standing next to the princess of the sun was Twila. Jack paused.

The soul-folk looked like hell. Black eye, her arm in a sling, and a bandaged nose. The farmer briefly forgot about Will's approaching duel and made a beeline for her friend.

"Twi," she called out as she came closer to the girl. "What in the hell happened ta ya?" Jack suddenly remembered her manners and gave an awkward bow to Celestia. "An', uh... howdy, yer grace."

"A 'howdy' to you too, Jack," the regal woman replied with a patient smile. The leader of Caballo then paused, looking over to her protege with a frown. "As for what happened to Twila, she risked herself for me—something I cannot condone."

"I would do the same again in a heartbeat, princess," Twila instantly replied. "There's no way I was going to let someone try to hurt you without a fight."

"Someone hurt her..." Jack trailed off. It dawned on her after another moment. "Wait. Did that thief ya mentioned yesterday do this ta ya?"

"In a way," the soul-folk agreed, rubbing the star-shaped mark on her cheek with a thumb. "I misjudged a teleportation spell, ended up a good ten feet in the air above the classroom I was knocked out of—a downside to casting a high-level spell while panicked. Makes precision go out the window."

"Judgin' by ya havin' ta teleport, I'm guessin' no luck in keepin' her away from the goods?"

"Him, actually," Twila corrected, then paused. "At least, I'm assuming 'him' for now."

Jack squinted in confusion. "Uh, I didn't realize it was that hard-a thing ta figure out."

"No, Jack," Twila said, putting a palm to her face as Celestia let a single snort of laughter pass through her noble visage. "Magic can alter bodies for a time—that can include... organs, if you will?"

"Oh! You mean like kidneys an' stuff?"

Celestia let out another small titter of restrained laughter as Twila's jaw dropped.

"_No_, Jack. I'm talking abou-"

"I know, I know—jus' had ta play the naive country girl bit," the farmer said with a small smirk, brushing off Twila's words with a wave of her hand. She paused. "I didn't know y'all could do _that_ much ta yerselves, but I guess it makes sense, considerin' all the other shit..." Jack glanced over to Celestia. "Er, _stuff_, yer able ta do."

"Anyway..." Twila's frown deepened. "I wasn't strong enough to stop him. He got the last plant needed to make his poison."

"You did your best, my child," Celestia said, placing a hand on the girl's shoulder. "That's all I ask of you."

"Celestia, I..." Twila started, putting her good hand to Celestia's own and squeezing tightly. Before the soul-folk could continue, Dash buzzed over to them, her ethereal wings in overdrive.

"Guys! Show's about to start—better get in position!"

Jack looked at the others present, then to the two combatants, who were now surrounded by several of Iron Will's men. They appeared to be making a large circle in the ground with chalk.

"Position?" Jack repeated. Dash nodded.

"Yeah, bro. Will wants a supporter for Luna and one for him watching together." She crossed her arms and puffed out her cheeks as she levitated in air. "'It's the only way I want this watched! That way nobody's opinion gets spoiled!'" the Ritter said in a in-the-ballpark imitation of Will's tone.

"So, guess me an' Twi?"

"Actually..." Twila trailed off with a wince. "Me and Dash are going to discuss guard positioning for tonight while this battle commences. With her being one of the upperclassmen in Will's group, she's going to be issuing orders."

"I keep fergettin' yer a year ahead of me here. Guess it's me an'..." Jack trailed off, turning to face the all-folk and swallowing.

"Indeed we are, Jack. Let's break away from the others—odds are, William will be begging me for my observations about the match." The royal and the farmer broke away from the others and took to walking.

"Will takes this stuff serious, huh?" Jack said, trying hard to break the ice she felt around the woman.

"Has since the griffon wars," Celestia agreed. "It is rare to see someone that devoted to the art of battle; Luna seems to be the closest thing he has to an equal anymore."

They paused when Isabelle and Twila were blobs of color in the distance.

"How often does he win?"

Celestia crossed her arms and leaned her head back onto her shoulders in thought. "Hmm... I believe the record is forty and forty-three, give or take a few points. I know it's Luna's favor now, though."

Jack shook her head. "Yer tellin' me that guy's won over forty fights against yer sister?"

"Around that, yes."

The farmer couldn't wrap her head around that. "But how? He ain't even got magic, fer cryin' out loud!"

"He doesn't need magic to win." Celestia's brow narrowed as Will put a hand on one of his assistant's shoulders and took a hefty, chipped axe from the masked man's arms.

"Ya can't be sayin' an axe beats someone that can jus' hoist ya up in the air an' choke ya, right?"

"Of course not," Celestia replied. "The problem is actually getting the spell to stick."

Jack scratched her hair, tilting her head slightly in confusion. "Whaddya mean?"

The all-folk pointed to Iron Will. "The reason he's feared isn't from muscle strength—that can be countered easily enough. His mind is actually the most dangerous part of his body."

Once the arena was marked, the masked men bowed and departed, heading towards the treeline. Will gave a few practice swings to his two-handed axe, growing accustomed to its weight.

Jack said nothing, waiting for Celestia to finish her thoughts. "Thanks to the mental focus from years of single-minded training and concentration, Will's got an inordinate amount of spiritual energy inside his body that resists magic—I've seen it stop dozens of forms of illusion, alteration, and even certain conjuration spells that were thrown at him." She smiled as she watched Iron Will get into position, his stance powerful and unafraid. "It's suicide for Luna to make him the target of magic. This battle of theirs boils down to technique and skill versus force and experience."

It began suddenly and silently, each combatant seemingly ready without uttering a word or breaking the morning's silence. Will charged forward, swinging his axe down. Luna easily parried it with the metal shaft of her spear and kicked him in the gut. Unphased by the strike, he swung horizontally; Luna leaned back just in time, the axe inches from her brow.

"They outta be careful," Jack said, feeling panicked at the nearly fatal strike. "One of 'em is apt ta be killed."

Celestia laughed.

"It looks that way, doesn't it?" she agreed. "But the seal Will's whisperer's drew around them will keep their weapon strikes non-lethal. Not that they won't feel it tomorrow—the spell just softens blows and stops blades from puncturing deep enough to be life-threatening."

As the battle raged on between the two paragons of combat, Jack felt like she needed an answer to a question that had been bothering her since yesterday.

"Princess?"

Celestia tilted her head towards Jack, never taking her gaze off of the battle.

"Why'd ya come today?"

"To see my prized student, of course."

Jack shook her head with a frown. "Come on now."

"Why come when someone wants to kill me?" the woman guessed.

"Eyup."

Celestia gave a half smile as Luna struck Will hard in the mouth with the pommel of her spear. He dodged a strike with the blade of the weapon and charged forward, slamming into her body with a shoulder.

"Two reasons, I suppose." She briefly tapped the hilt of Excalibur with her delicate, gloved fingers. "Firstly, if I am to be targeted by an assassin, then I'd rather it be in a favorable situation. Despite their best efforts, whoever intends to target me tonight will have quite a bit of work ahead of them. If he or she manages to evade your group and subdue Will, then they still have to best me and Luna." The faintest hard glimmer shown in her eye. "There's a reason me and my sister are the sovereign leaders of Caballo, and it's not simply due to blood lineage."

"An' the second?"

Celestia grinned like a child, all thoughts of battle leaving her mind as she briefly looked away from the chaotic melee and towards Jack. "Do you know the legend of Excalibur?"

Jack blinked. "Kinda. Yer pa got it from some sorta... lady in a lake. I think."

"That's mostly correct."

"An' it's got some kinda, uh, magic in it, right?"

"Some of the strongest in the land," Celestia agreed. She returned her gaze to Luna for a moment, before speaking again. "Do you know the strongest part of Excalibur?"

"What?"

"It's a question Merlin the Star-Swirled asked of my father when he was but a child-king."

Jack pursed her lips in thought. "It some kinda riddle?"

"_Maybe_," Celestia teased.

"Well..." She put a hand to her chin. If it was a riddle or something, she'd have to think outside the box—think about something only vaguely related to Excalibur.

_The hand that holds it? Nah, comes out sounding too egotistical ta be tellin' a kid like Arthur. Maybe..._

"What about the sheath?" she guessed. It was a shot in the dark, but it sorta made sense.

Celestia raised her brow in evident surprise. She put a gloved hand to her earthen-toned chin. "Why do you say the sheath?"

The farmer froze. This was worse than having to show her work in a math class. "W-well..." she swallowed. "Uh... it's like you've got yerself a fancy diplomatic meetin'. A sheathed sword at one of them things would say a lot, I'd reckon. Tell the people ya'll were talkin to that ya ain't interested in hurtin' nobody, but if ya gotta, yer gonna draw a blade ta protect you and yers."

Celestia ran through Jack's words, giving a small wink to the farmer. "You _really_ took it into metaphorical ground."

"Well... don't wanna do a job halfway."

The sun princess snorted laughter. "While you're mostly correct, there's a more practical reason why this sheath is the strongest part of the weapon." She crossed her hands behind her back. "The sheath held—or, depending on who you ask, still holds—a divine blessing. Whosoever carries the sheath shall not suffer the breaking of blades or piercing of arrows upon their skin." Celestia touched the handle of the legendary weapon. "They say that the blessing ended with the death of my father, but I have my doubts."

"I'd imagine so, yer still in one piece after the war—that's somethin' right there."

"Mmm," Celestia off-handily replied. "The sheath is akin to Schrodinger's cat, in a way. I won't know if the blessing still actually exists until I get injured."

"Why's the cat of a fella named Schrodinger important?" Jack asked, obviously clueless.

"Nevermind. It's..." Celestia trailed off with a slightly disappointed shake of her head. "My point is that even if the magic isn't there anymore, I'd still carry it."

"'Cause it's yer father's?"

"Indeed. This way he can live on with me."

Jack and Celestia slipped back into quiet observation of the two combatants. Neither had given much ground, though Will had a shallow cut across his chest and Luna had a rapidly swelling black eye.

"Surprised you let yer sister do this," Jack commented.

"Luna's always had a fascination with warfare, even before we were old enough to enter the fray. Tactics, swordplay, archery, offensive magic—if I didn't let her fight her battles, that would be the far crueler fate."

"She fight a lot?"

"About any time we manage to flee Camelot together," Celestia joked, her hair swaying in an unfelt breeze. "It's been hard leaving just the Council in charge of decision-making in our absence, they're always second guessing themselves and seeking our advice on matters." She raised her brow in thought. "Now that the self-exiled princess is back, though, maybe I can sneak off a bit more often, give them a chance or two to prove themselves without my guidance. Give them a taste of how Luna runs things."

"Sounds like the Council's a pretty big deal," Jack said, running a finger under her nose.

Celestia nodded, her words taking on a philosophical tone. "It's an important position. They're around to make sure my sister and I are doing what's best for Caballo as a whole. Our... ideas for what's right in this land can sometimes come across as a bit old fashioned, suffice to say. The Council makes sure we can be held in check."

"Ain't nothin' wrong with bein' a bit ol'-fashioned," Jack replied, nodding slightly as Will yanked the spear Luna thrust at him out of her hands and struck at her temple with an elbow. The blonde scowled when Luna rolled with the blow, landing on the ground a few feet back and to Will's right. With a gesture, her spear seemed to disintegrate from William's hands. At the same instant, it quickly built itself back together in her own palms. Will offered an exasperated look, wrung his hands around his axe shaft, and charged forward once more.

Celestia smiled. "Perhaps. Still, it's important to hear a modern man's worldview occasionally. Debate keeps the mind sharp, and reminds me on occasion that I'm not all-powerful—that I have people to answer to, just as much as anyone living in this country does." She clasped her hand at Excalibur's sheath once more. "Power has to be tempered with responsibility. Do you understand?"

"Yeah, I think so," Jack agreed, surprised at how she was adapting to speaking with one of the rulers of her country. Just a month or so ago, Jack wouldn't have a clue what to do with someone this regal and cultured.

"Good. Will tells me you have the markings of a warrior—if you heed my advice, I think he'll be right."

"Warrior? Will all due respect, princess, I'm jus' a farmer from the south, 'bout all I want," Jack replied easily, looking away from Celestia for a moment to stare once more at the battle between two living legends.

Celestia was about to reply but held back, instead letting a small, sad smile cross her features as she returned her own gaze to the fight.

000

Jack stood patiently amid the crowd of armed guards as she waited for Will to return from the nurse's lounge. _The lady that worked the office probably wasn't used to treating a norfolk and a princess back-to-back,_ Jack thought with a shake of her head.

The fight was intense, as close as a razor, neither had walked away uninjured; Will had a fractured eye socket and a puncture wound in his gut—the seal his companions had crafted before the match had thankfully stopped Luna's spear from piercing too deeply. Luna, on the other hand, had a fractured arm and a burn mark across her neck—Celestia said that if the seal hadn't been up, Will's axe wouldn't have been repelled. The man probably would have decapitated her. Jack wasn't sure how to take Celestia's nonchalant approach to their altercation. If it had been her, Jack would have been fretting about the magic wearing off mid-fight so bad that she wouldn't be able to swing her weapon.

Then again, the farmer never had much trust for magic working right.

Will finally came after another minute or two, limping, bandaged and clutching at one side of his jawline, but smiling proudly. He walked through the track field and throng of students. After getting a few paces ahead of the group, he snapped around and to attention, puffing his bare chest out and staring straight ahead with his unbandaged eye, past his students.

Jack gave a quick glance behind her, then turned forward once more. She paused, doing a double-take.

Luna approached, her arm in a sling and bruises all but coating her pale skin. She too, marched forward, through the sea of people that parted within seconds of noticing their ruler. Dozens of them kneeled down. Jack looked at them briefly, then clumsily dropped to a knee herself. The princess stepped slowly past the farmer, joining Will's side.

"Arise, my loyal subjects," Luna commanded.

The group rose, with many taking a militaristic, rigid pose. Jack simply put her hands to her hips and waited for their liege to speak once more.

"Today, thou art guardians of Caballo's will. We know that in our heart of hearts, thou shalt preform thine duties with the utmost skill and as such, We simply would like to thank all of you for this blessing." Luna bent down to her knees, falling prostrate and cradling her injured hand to her chest as she tapped her forehead to the ground. "Thou remember the words of thine fathers and their fathers before them. Each of thee honor the Pendragon's in more ways than We can express." The princess remained on the ground for a moment, before rising and dusting off her armor. "'Thine instructor will now delegate your place and location for this evening. While I doubt greatly of a man foolish enough to attack mine sister or I, We trust any attempts on our body's well-being will not go without a fight."

Will nodded. "You can count on us. Besides, if this guy gets through the rest..." he gestured towards his students, then pointed a thumb to his chest. "He still has to tangle with the best." Will then reached into both of the pockets of his pants, producing a small notebook and a pair of reading glasses. He put them on and frowned at how skewed they were thanks to his bandages. With a roll of his good eye, he took off the pair and squinted hard at the paper. "Ok, let's see... uh..."

Luna turned her gaze to the giant. "Shall I speak on your behalf?"

Will sighed, handing over the notebook. "Only because you got me square in the good eye earlier."

"And thou caught me on my favorite throat," Luna dryly retorted.

Will gave a small chuckle. "Guess we're square."

Luna cleared her throat, turning to the crowd. "_Apple, Jack!_" she bellowed, loud enough to make everyone wince. "_Thou art to be a guardian of mine and mine sister's quarters!_"

Jack was tempted to ask if she should read Luna and Celestia a bedtime story too, but decided against it. Anyone shouting like that was bound to not be in a joking mood.

"_Almadia, Andre!_"

A young sky-folk gave a nod, wiping his nose with a thumb.

"_Thou shalt be under Isabelle Ritter's tutelage!_"

Luna continued to shout, issuing directions to dozens of people. Dash was on patrol in the hallways, with three people under her command. A few other names Jack vaguely knew were called out, putting several guards outside the school's entrance, patrolling the fields, and a few others keeping watch over the basement and dormitories. A short time later, Gilda was called to arms, instructed to join Jack in guarding the quarters.

The farmer swore under her breath. Of all the people to be paired with, it had to be her. Jack glanced across the crowd. Sure enough, she spotted Gilda, who bore her own mark of disdain at the news.

"_Thou all have thine orders! Let us all make haste to fulfill them_!" Luna barked out. "_Honor thine fathers with thine works_!"

They all separated, falling into cliques as they traveled to their posts, a few only briefly stopping to arm themselves from a crate of weapons some of Will's servants had placed nearby during Luna's announcements. Jack lagged behind the others, being one of the last to actually get to the supplies. As she bent down to try and find a weapon in strong enough not to be damaged by her colossal strength, a hand tapped her on the shoulder.

Jack turned, coming face to face with one of Will's masked companions. He wordlessly thrust a hefty looking single-bit axe Jack's way. The farmer raised a brow as the man made a few small finger gestures with his free hand. He nodded and gave another small thrust with the weapon's handle, encouraging Jack to take it.

"Uh, thanks?" she offered. He nodded, briskly turning and walking off. The farmer shook her head. "What in the sam hill was that about?" she muttered to herself.

"Sign language," Gilda said from a few feet away. Jack turned, spotting Gilda about fifteen feet away and approaching, barely making a noise on the packed dirt.

Jack shook her head. "Yer as quiet as a mouse at a librarian's funeral."

"What?"

"Jus' sayin' ya caught me by surprise is all." Jack shrugged. Gilda grunted, quickly looking over the cache of weapons and selecting a sheathed dagger, which she promptly looped around her belt with a bit of fabric. "So, how'd ya know what he was doin' there?"

"What? The sign language?" Gilda asked, pulling back her sleeve and checking the small, wrist-mounted crossbow attached to her arm. "Will told me about it last year."

"Why didn't that fella jus' speak ta me?"

Gilda scowled, adjusting the middriff-bearing jacket she wore. "Are you freaking stupid? They can't."

"Why?"

The archer looked over Jack with disdain. "You _are_ that stupid." She shook her head. "They're all muties."

"Like, they can't talk, or...?"

Gilda smirked, exposing her tongue. She ran a thumb underneath it. "Like they got it cut out."

Jack paused, looking over the other's face. Not detecting any hint of a joke, the farmer slowly put a hand to her mouth. "_Jesus_... why, though?"

"They're like soul-folk. Got power in 'em. While people around here use their hands for spells, norfolk speak or sing to produce magic"

"Guess callin' 'em whisperer's makes sense."

"Yeah. As for the ones around here that follow Will, they were part of a group of norfolk that got captured during the wars, I guess. Griffon-folk didn't want any chance of magic getting turned against 'em, so..." Gilda clicked her tongue. "Off with 'em."

Jack shook her head. "What kinda monsters do that ta people?"

Gilda didn't have an answer.

After a beat, the white-haired woman glanced away and rudely brushed past the farmer. "It is what it is. Let's get this damn day over with, hick."

The farmer narrowed her brow. "Right behind ya."

000

Trixie woke up as dusk light filtered past the venetian blinds by her bedside. She weakly groaned, sitting up and tossing her legs over the bedside. Her entire body ached thanks to overtaxing her powers last night. She coughed harshly, clutching at her burning throat and standing. Her legs buckled and she limply collapsed to the wooden floor. The soul-folk sucked in a pained breath, weakly getting to her knees and using the corner of her desk to rise.

Trixie stumbled once more, but caught herself this time. After another moment, she fully rose and glanced over to the far end of her room, where lay several small beakers half full with various chemicals and a mortar and pestle with brown and green dried plant pulpings shredded inside. Trixie moved at a limp across the room, sitting down at the counter and taking to slowly and mechanically grinding the plants into a fine powder. She gave a small thought to the pick-me-up in her cloak, but decided against it for now—she only had two vials of the stuff, and one was going to be all but necessary if things went south tonight, as weak as she was.

She rolled her neck and reached for the beakers, popping the corks off of each top and pouring the individual mixtures into the mortar, then stirring the concoction slowly and carefully. Magesbane could react violently if you weren't careful with it—Trixie was already painfully low on magical reserves, she didn't want to be tapped completely out, after all.

Her thoughts wandered as she monotonously stirred the foul smelling mixture.

As long as she had successfully misdirected everyone about her real target, she wouldn't have a problem at all tonight. It had seemed bothersome at the time, stealing more supplies than she needed, but it was the only way Trixie could put the idea in Twila's mind that she was targeting an all-folk.

Trixie shook her head. Despite wanting to put the girl she was after in a magical coma, Dorcas didn't want her hurt. "A warning is all," he had said. Trixie didn't understand the reason then, or now. It had just seemed like it'd be so much easier to just kill the woman—wasn't like that soul-folk knew combat, after all, compared to Twila.

The white-haired girl paused for a moment, sitting dead still.

"Twila..." Trixie growled out, clenching a hand so hard she could feel the nails biting her palm.

It wasn't fair. That pathetic excuse for a soul-folk shouldn't have lived through last night, once their spells had began. Trixie was stronger, faster, far more capable of anything that second-string bookworm was ever capable of doing, and yet...

_Come on. Snap out of it, _Trixie thought, refusing to think any more about her rival._ What was Trixie's order of operation? Gas the woman, drag or teleport her to the bell tower. Complete the ceremony. Ok. That's not bad at all. _

And after that? After that, she'd be eating on Dorcas's ticket for years to come.

The tailor Dorcas was after wouldn't even know what hit her.

000

Jack shuffled slightly on her feet as she stared down the long hallway she was stationed at, her back firmly against a heavyset wooden door. Despite her best efforts, she let out a yawn, earning her the reproach of the other woman that stood nearby.

"Stop that shit," Gilda growled out. "It's not even ten yet. We don't swap for another three hours."

"I ain't exactly an all-nighter. Early ta bed an' early ta rise, ya know?"

Gilda gave a scowl and grunted, crossing her arms and leaning back against the door. "This is stupid. All we've done is stand around and look down an empty hall. At least everyone else is actually patrolling."

Jack shook her head slowly in thought. "What time ya reckon the fella would get here, if he's plannin' on takin' Luna and Celestia out?"

"Very early morning, I guess. Keeps people disoriented." Gilda brushed off a piece of lint from her worn shoulder pads.

"Wouldn't the princesses know that?"

Gilda blinked. "I suppose so. I mean, Luna has been training with military tactics since she was a child."

"Then if he wanted ta actually have an advantage, he'd have ta do it at an earlier time—since Luna would be ready that early, right?" Jack stopped briefly, a rare insightful thought crossing her mind. "Now, I ain't a genius by any means-"

"Obviously," the snow-haired woman agreed.

Jack ignored the reply. "But there's somethin' not right 'bout all this. Jus' seems a bit too, I dunno, obvious. Why would ya pretty much announce yer plan ta kill an all-folk? There are so many fellas patrollin' right now that it's gonna be hard as hell sneakin' past 'em, let alone takin' down Will." Jack gave a nod of her head towards the room they were guarding. "An shoot, Twila ain't no slacker neither."

"Might just be dumb and arrogant, hick."

"Whoever it is managed ta get away from Twila last night—that ain't dumb."

Gilda sighed, crossing her arms and staring at the wall to the side. She leaned against it, unsheathing her knife to shave off a layer of her fingernails, then dusting the tips against her heavy jacket. "Occam's razor."

Jack's face scrunched up. "First it was that Shrewdinger fella with his cat, now there's an Ock-am too? Lord, I jus' can't win today."

The archer crossed her arms and refused to make eye contact with Jack. "Friggin' stupid. Occam's razor is a theory that the most obvious answer is usually the correct one."

"Meanin'?" Jack asked.

The white-haired woman growled under her breath. "Meaning that whoever this is is probably going after someone else, while we waste resources on protecting people who can protect themselves."

A sinking feeling started forming at Jack's gut over where the conversation was heading. "I, I dunno. Ya figure Twila would think it was a distraction, if they were plannin' on takin' someone else out."

"As much as I hate know-it-alls, I'll agree Twila would probably embrace the idea that this was a distraction. Normally."

Jack glanced down the hallway once more. "What's stoppin' her now?"

Gilda stared hard at the farmer. "I have no idea how someone so stupid is in college, let alone breathing."

Jack scowled, looking down at the woman. "I don't take kindly ta words like them, Gilda."

"You'd better get used to them until you stop being retarded," she snapped back, resting her hands tensely at her bare stomach and glaring dangerously.

"Ya know what?" Jack replied, throwing her hands up in defeat. "Ok. _Fine_. I'll bite. What, apparently, am I missin'?"

"You're missing the fact the guy who stole that crap to make a poison? He was counting on getting Twila riled up enough that she'd panic and send every available resource she could towards protecting Celestia."

"Meanin' that, aside from patrols, other places 'round campus would be threadbare..."

"Now you're getting it," Gilda nodded in agreement, obviously getting tired of the conversation. She wrapped a finger around her hair, twisting it as she stared down the hall. "If I don't see a soul-folk body by late morning, I'll be surprised."

"Then we gotta do somethin'!" Jack exclaimed, pausing for only a moment before taking down the hall. "You get Twila an' Will roused, I'mma hit the patrols 'round the dorms—have 'em split up an' search the rooms." The farmer began quickly running down the hall. She spared a glance behind her, just before rounding the corner.

Gilda stood, unmoving from her post.

"What in the—Gilda move yer ass!"

She stared at Jack, looking repulsed. "Why?"

"Why in the hell do ya think?! Someone might be dyin'!" Jack snapped, throwing her hand to the side.

Gilda shrugged. "Not my problem. Besides, even if I cared—which I don't—how could we know who's being targeted? All we got is that the guy's probably after a soul-folk, judging by the shit that's been stolen. Even that might be a lie and he might just shank someone with a knife! It's _bullshit_ to think you can make a difference!" Gilda snapped back, subconsciously resting her hand on the pommel of the dagger at her side.

"_Don't mean I can't try_!" Jack roared, the sound echoing in the hallway. She clenched her fists tightly, her arms shaking in anger. She broke away from Gilda and headed towards the doors. "I'll get 'em myself."

Before Jack could put a hand on the large double-doors, Gilda snapped forward, grabbing the farmer's wrist.

"We have our orders. Don't disturb them."

"Ta hell with orders—this is _important_!"

"You're not getting through that door and that's that, _Apple,_" Gilda replied, ice in her voice.

Jack felt a growing, red-hot heat in her belly, her nostrils flared and her jaw clenched as her mind felt like it was turning into a static filled television—she had only a vague idea on what was happening, it felt like her actions were distant. Controlled by an avatar. Without warning, she shot forward, pinning Gilda and slamming her forearm into the others throat.

"Ya think yer some tough shit, _don't ya_?" she whispered through her contorted face, each syllable a pinprick of venom and warning as Gilda struggled to break free of Jack's grip. "Thinkin' that jus' cause it ain't buggin' ya, it don't need anythin' done 'bout it? Thinkin' that followin' the rules is more important than doin' what's _right_?" She sneered, pressing even harder on Gilda's throat, the dark-skinned woman choked, letting out a strangled, weak hiss of air. "Yer wrong. I'm _goin'_ through that door."

Gilda managed to pry Jack's arm away for a brief moment. She sucked in a half-breath of air. "Kiss my ass, Apple," she growled out, staring defiantly at the farmer with her piercing eyes.

Jack pulled her hand back and threw a punch.

She stopped, inches from Gilda's face, feeling like she had just woken up from a horrific nightmare. Jack let go of the other; Gilda collapsed to her knees, clutching her neck and swallowing air. The tall woman gazed down at her, sweating. She opened her mouth, though no sound came out.

"That the best you got?" Gilda finally panted out, rising slightly off of the ground. "You're... pathetic."

Jack said nothing still, sweat coated her brow and her hands shook. "I..." She backed away a few steps and swallowed deeply. "I..."

She turned, sprinting off down the hallway, her thoughts nothing but a jumbled collection of warnings and self-doubt as she ran through the school.

She had lost control again.

She had lost control _again_.

Just thinking about it made her want to vomit. Just thinking about what she had said to Rarity the other day.

_Ya shouldn't be afraid of... someone like me._

Gilda would have had a busted lip and broken teeth at _best_, if Jack hadn't gotten a sudden flash of clarity from her anger. The smallest glimmer that broke through her veil of darkness.

When she swung, right before impact, there was a brief spark of fear in Gilda's otherwise emotionless eyes.

000

Gilda rose, leaning back against the wall and drawing breath after breath. She rubbed at her already bruising neck.

_Bitch, _she thought, scowling intently. Hick was lucky, getting a sucker punch off like that—a fair fight and Gilda would have mopped the floor with her.

What was her deal, anyway? They had their orders. Doing something stupid like this, especially with nothing concrete? Dumber than a bag of hammers.

The woman scowled, crossing her arms over her chest and staring daggers down the hallway. Sure, the hick was already long gone by now, but it still felt good in a petty, spiteful way. Gilda's glare turned even more sour—she slammed a fist into the wall and gave a disdainful sniff.

"Coward," she said under her breath, not sure who she was speaking about.

The door behind her opened. Will sauntered out, accompanied a few steps behind by Twila.

"What was the noise earlier?" he asked, then paused, glancing to his left. "And where in the nine hells is Apple?"

Gilda seemed to debate on what to tell him. Finally, she shrugged. "Was heading to the dorms."

"She left her post?" Will growled out. "She had one job and-"

"Apple did it because she thinks there's a different target than Celestia."

Twila tilted her head. "But why would-"

"Why _would_ they try to kill someone like Celestia? It'd be like sticking a hand covered in meat into a bear cage. Princess or not, they know how to take care of themselves. You've just got the hots for teacher so bad that your head isn't screwed on right!" Gilda snapped, staring hard at Twila, who turned beat red and scowled.

"I've got nothing of the sort!"

"If that were true, you woulda realized that you were being set up," Gilda replied, crossing her arms and resting against the wall. "It's a bait-and-switch. Anyone going after the Lady of the Sun would have their shit wrecked."

"I..."

"You screwed the pooch on this one, you damn _dweeb_," Gilda spat. "Teaming up with Isabelle and giving everyone pointless orders just so you could 'save' that ancient piece of ass."

"Don't call her that!" Twila snarled, stepping forward. Gilda's smirk widened, exposing a row of sharp teeth.

"Sorry, sweetheart. I always forget how bad you want to get in that granny's pants."

Twila lunged forward; Will scooped her up with one arm and placed her behind him.

"_That's_. _Enough_," he ordered, his tone leaving no room for compromise. "Now, it's worth a look to see if this whole thing was a misdirection—even just as a courtesy. Twila, can you use magic?"

"I'll be fine," she dismissed. "One doesn't need two hands to preform spells, after all."

"Good. Come with me for a moment—Gilda, you stand guard. And for your father's sake and the ones before him, _don't_ blindly follow orders without thinking of the consequences. Cowards do that."

Gilda scowled, hugging herself as they disappeared, vanishing around the corner. She blinked and sucked in a heavy breath.

"I'm not a coward."

000

Jack's feet slapped against the linoleum as she frantically ran through the possibilities of who could be targeted.

_Soul-folk. An'... an'..._

And that was about all she knew. While she wasn't a recluse by any means, she just didn't know enough about the other students to make a guess as to why one of them was being targeted—she wasn't Rarity, after all. Girl loved her gossip far more than Jack.

Jack literally paused, one foot lifted in front of the other and her arms mid-swing.

_Rarity._

If there was one woman in her group of friends that would know about skeletons in the closet, and what could make a person be marked for death, it'd be the tailor.

Jack nodded to herself and made her way towards Rarity and Twila's dorm-room, her mind racing in a thousand directions at once as she blew past a group patrol and rounded a corner.

_What if she doesn't know anything?_

_ What if I'm too late?_

_ What if Gilda's wrong and Celestia _is _targeted?_

_What if Rarity's the target?_

Jack was about to brush the last thought off as paranoia, but it stuck to her, giving her a desperate, frightened feeling in her gut.

_Think about who nearly fell to their death a few months back thanks to someone trying to scare her. Think about who one of the richest people in St. Charles is! Think, ya damn fool!_

Jack's hard jog turned into a dead sprint, her axe smacked hard into the small of her back with every frantic footstep.

000

She observed the sleeping figure of the woman from the foot of the elegant bed. Watched the violet-haired beauty take each breath, her chest slowly rising and falling with each motion as she slept under the cover of silken sheets. Trixie pushed back her hat, almost sad that it was this easy. Girl didn't have the door locked, didn't hear Trixie creep through the room to stand vigil at the foot of her bed—she was even wearing a s_leep mask_.

_So much for an attentive audience, _the magician dryly thought.

She reached into her pockets, producing a vial filled to the brim with a neon blue powder. With no hesitation, she uncorked and inhaled its contents through her nose.

As soon as the first trace of powder entered her system, she felt magic surge throughout her body. Trixie doubled over, watching as the vial fell out of her convulsing hands. It hit the ground, breaking the dead silence.

Rarity slept on.

Once her body had stopped tingling, and the faintest marks of black had shown up on her veins, Trixie reached and produced another vial. This one, a reddish-brown, she took to Rarity and let it sit under the woman's nose, as she covered her own mouth and nose with a handkerchief.

In mere moments, Rarity began to cough and clutch her neck at the scent of the grounded magesbane, its venomous ability already beginning to sap the soul-folk of her magic. The tailor threw off her mask, still coughing intently.

"Twila?! I smell smoke!" Rarity exclaimed as she rose from under her sheets and stood, clad in a silken, form-fitting nightgown. As the sleep quickly died from her mind, she noticed Trixie, who smiled grimly. Rarity let out a shriek, backing up and tripping over her bed, landing near the corner of the room.

She raised an even palm and braced it with her other hand. "W-who are you?" she weakly asked, her heart a frantic drum beat.

"You don't know Trixie?" the pale woman asked. "The strongest soul-folk in the acad—no, in the _world_?" She leered at Rarity, looking hard at the tailor's open palm. "And you can stop pretending you have a magic spell armed—the magesbane you inhaled stops any chance you have of conjuring spells."

Rarity tried regardless, focusing her mind towards her palm, and envisioning a powerful surge of wind erupting from her hand.

The smallest gust of wind came from the tailor's hands, slightly blowing Trixie's hair from her brow. She shook her head at Rarity and adjusted her large hat.

"Told you," the woman stated. She reached once more into her pocket, pulling out a large syringe.

Rarity's eyes shot further open in panic. She glanced towards the door—it seemed so far away. If she could just get past Trixie...

The tailor jumped up and shot forward, jumping onto her bed and springing off the mattress in a blind panic. She made one more desperate sprint and lunge for the door. With shaking hands, she unlocked it and-

Transparent, blue chains wrapped around bother her wrists. They pulled her backwards and pushed her body flush against the wall.

"Going somewhere before the show?" Trixie asked, laconically spinning a finger in the air as two additional magic chains came to life, pinning the tailor's ankles flush against the wall.

"_Someone_!" Rarity called out, struggling against the magic. "_Anyone_!"

"You must think the Great and Powerful Trixie for a fool. Of course she cast a sound dispersion spell on the room before she woke you! Couldn't let your screams interrupt, after all."

"W...what do you want, y-you brute?" Rarity whimpered. "Money?"

"Trixie is insulted." She narrowed her brow and slowly shook her head as she approached the tailor. "I've got more than enough money doing exactly this."

Trixie put a hand to Rarity's cheek—the violet-haired woman shrank and recoiled at the touch. The showwoman's smile widened. She brushed Rarity's hair from her neckline and ran a finger along the side of her neck, before plunging a needle deeply into the tailor's throat.

The woman let out a pained gasp and trembled as the syringe deposited its load into her body.

"What...?" Rarity weakly asked. Trixie nodded in understanding. With a snap of her fingers, the chains disappeared and Rarity sank to the floor, sweating.

"Think of it like a cocktail. You don't know what's all in it, but I'll let you know the main ingredient is turbocurine—a relaxant. Judging by your body size, we've got maybe four minutes before your entire skeletal system becomes paralyzed." She gave a haughty tilt of her nose on seeing Rarity's terrified expression. "Don't worry. If Trixie had wanted you murdered, she would have simply crushed your skull with a pressure spell while you were asleep."

"Then...?" the tailor panted out. Already, the drug was starting to take effect—her voice was limp and whisper quiet, and her legs quivered like jelly. She tried to stand, only to not even have the strength to hoist herself up

"It's just to make you docile. For now. When I carry you to the clock tower, I'll-."

The doorknob leading to the hallway jiggled; Trixie swore, quickly making a gesture and conjuring a black, misty ball of energy into her palm. She threw it across the room, smashing the loosely collected orb against a wall. It hit with a small pop, inky vines crept throughout the area, coating it in pitch-blackness.

Trixie smiled as the door slowly opened. Whoever it was was in for one hell of a show.

000

Jack paused at Rarity's dorm room to briefly suck in a breath of air. She had sprinted across most of campus, drawing looks from the dozens of men and women on patrol. With another deep breath of air, Jack twisted the handle, not surprised in the slightest when it was unlocked. She slowly creaked it open and took a tentative step inside.

Darkness. A pitch-black room greeted the farmer. Jack held out a hand a few feet from her face and couldn't even see that. She began to slink along, running her hand against the wall and attempting to find a light-switch.

"Rare?" Jack spoke in a heavy whisper, taking a few more cautious steps through the room, sure the switch was nearby.

The door slammed shut behind her; Jack turned on instinct to face it, swearing and drawing her axe.

A click behind her—Jack's instincts went into overdrive, she jumped to the side just as a blinding flash of blue electricity erupted past her, striking against the wall with a thundering roar.

"Who the hell's here?!" the farmer called out loudly, holding her axe out in front of her like a protective ward.

"Asking for a name before giving your own?" a haughty woman's voice said from everywhere and nowhere at once. "Such manners."

"Talkin' 'bout manners when yer hidin' in the dark?" Jack spat, glancing all around her in an attempt to find the speaker. "Show yerself."

"With pleasure."

A bright, overwhelming burst of light erupted from the ceiling lights—Jack squinted her eyes shut and covered them with the back of her hand, just as a force connected hard to her chest, disarming her with a clatter and knocking her onto her back. The farmer rose, coughing and sputtering, glancing across the brightly lit room, where a woman wearing a cape and large hat stood, smugly grinning.

"Where's Rarity?!" Jack asked, staring daggers.

The woman smiled, rising one finger and pointing it to Jack's side. The farmer offered the briefest of glances, feeling like this was a trick.

There, on her bed, was Rarity, staring straight up and taking strangled gasps for air. Her body remained motionless, but her blue eyes slowly traveled towards Jack, the raw, panicked emotion on them almost palpable.

"What ya do ta her, ya _bitch_?!" Jack snarled out, her teeth bared like a feral dogs.

"Just a little cocktail. Trixie doesn't plan on killing her." She offered a half-smile Jack's way. "You, though..."

Jack gave a small glance toward her axe. About five feet ahead of her. She could dive for it. She could _make_ that. She subtly tensed, waiting for an opportunity.

"I'd like ta see ya try," the farmer growled. Trixie glanced towards' the figure of Rarity.

"She has about two minutes before she's unable to breath on her own." The magicain smugly grinned. "Trixie thinks it's an excessive time limit to deal with a mud-folk, but she's sure she'll find _something_ to do after you're dead."

Jack snapped her body and lept forward, somersaulting as she hit the ground. She grabbed the axe mid-roll and rose in one fluid motion, charging the soul-folk, who watched with disinterest. The farmer hefted her axe in preparation of a powerful swing, just as Trixie made a few small, minute gestures with her hands.

Jack's hands became raw, painful agony as the handle of her weapon turned red-hot. She dropped it on reflex and watched it clatter once more to the floor before briefly glancing at her hands—the leather gloves had stopped any lasting damage. The ward Rarity had put in between the layers must be working like a charm. The farmer glared up at the soul-folk and ran forward, raising her fist to strike.

Despite Jack's years learning boxing, and countless hours of training with Will, Trixie simply ducked under the blow, that smug, arrogant grin still prevalent on her face as the woman rose, striking Jack. There was a loud crunch as the lithe woman's surprisingly strong fist connected with Jack's nose, breaking it.

Jack howled, tears welling up in her eyes as she cupped a hand over her ruined nose. Blood poured from her crooked nostrils, running down her face. She threw a punch once more. Trixie narrowly dodged it, the brief flicker of surprise on her face enough for Jack to gain a little confidence back.

"Yer gonna have ta do better than jus' a smack against me," Jack warned, scowling though her blood-soaked mouth.

Trixie smirked. "You're right."

She gestured once more and Jack was knocked off her feet by an invisible force. She skidded, smashing hard against the wall. Another force instantly brought Jack to her feet and flush against the wall, where blue, transparent shackles held her arms and legs in place.

The farmer struggled, but was unable to escape the magical chains that held her in place.

"Hmm..." Trixie pondered, reaching into a pocket and producing a switchblade. "Trixie at least has something to do for the next minute..." With a grin, she balanced the tip of the blade on her finger, before throwing it blindingly fast across the room.

000

Will ran down the hallways with Twila, trying to make up for lost time on finding Jack.

It had taken a bit of asking the groups of patrols, but eventually they got an idea of where the woman had went too—wasn't like there were too many that looked like the farmer, after all. The guidance they had received eventually put them at the front of Twila's door.

Will gave a look over to the soul-folk. "There a reason Apple woulda come here?"

"Well..." Twila gave a pause in consideration. "Her and my roommate are, well, _close_."

"Close like...?" Will gave an implying roll of his enormous hands.

"Indeed."

"So she just went off for a quickie?" Will narrowed his brow and swore, crossing his arms. "I'm gonna beat her black and blue for this-making up a lie just so she could get some action." He tried the door. Locked. He turned to Twila. "Do you have the key?"

Twila stared down at the floor, a nagging feeling running through her mind-something was off about, well, everything going on. Jack wasn't the type to blow off anything.

On realizing Will asked a question, the soul-folk nodded, reaching into a pocket as Will moved to the side to let her through. "Rarity never locks the room," Twila said, mostly to herself.

Will overheard and gave a shrug. "When you're having sex in a room, lock it up, you goon," he said, nodding sagely. Twila felt heat rush through her ebony face at his blunt words.

"Oh my... do you suppose they're...?"

"Only one way to find out." He nodded. "Get the door open."

She froze, clutching the side of her head as two things happened simultaneously. First, Twila sensed the overpowering magical aura of a soul-folk utilizing their craft, coming from the other side of the door.

Second, the realization that all those months back, Rarity nearly lost her life thanks to Blueblood. It might be mere coincidence, but as it stood now, the scholar had a feeling she found who the real target was tonight...

"Twila?" Will asked, sparing a glance her way and snapping her out of her epiphany.

"There's something more than Rarity and Jack behind the door," she stated, her good hand clenched tightly at her side. "Magic."

Will mulled that over for a brief second. "The guy who hassled you last night?"

"He hid his magical aura last night. However, I wouldn't doubt it."

The norfolk scowled, reaching behind his back and pulling out a dented and worn axe. "I'm breaking down the door. Watch my back."

She clenched her fist, a lavender aura coated it instantly, shining like a fire in the dark. "Go."

000

The knife flew through the room, propelling directly toward Jack's face. She tilted her head and pushed hard to her left. The knife pierced deeply through her cheek, tearing a long line from her mouth to her ear. She howled at her ruined face, fighting against her shackles.

A blue aura enveloped the knife, pulling it free from the wall. It flew into Trixie's hand. She casually wiped the knife clean. "Where should Trixie throw next?" She gave a gesture; small shackles pinned Jack's hand to the wall, her digits opened involuntary and splayed out. "Ring finer, perhaps? Or Trixie supposes she could just pull out your teeth one by one..." She glanced over at the still figure of Rarity. "Ah. Never mind. Seems like our time together is at an end." The magician aimed her knife. "Would you prefer it through the eye or forehead?"

"Go... ta... _hell_," Jack snarled through her aching, blood-soaked mouth. For a brief moment, she shivered and nearly vomited at the realization she could stick her tongue out though the cut Trixie gave.

"The throat it is, then."

Trixie pulled back her hand, just as the wooden door exploded, sending splinters across the room. The massive bulk of Iron Will charged through the shadow, as Twila walked in right behind, making a gesture that parted the shadows, disintegrating them in a heartbeat. Upon Twila clearing the shadows, Will instantly scanned the area, spotting Trixie and charging. She made a gesture and an aura briefly enveloped the norfolk. With a shake of his body, it vanished, leaving Trixie stunned as the giant twisted her arm and brought her to the ground.

The impact broke Trixie's concentration, the magical shackles around Jack vanished without a trace. The farmer tilted forward and crashed to the floor, groaning in pain.

"I got her pinned!" Will shouted out, never looking away from the soul-folk. "Check Jack!"

Twila knelt down, wincing on seeing the farmer's broken nose. "Jack, I'll-"

"Rare," she sputtered through her clenched teeth. "Rare first."

The soul-folk looked up to the still, limp body of Rarity. Twila quickly left Jack's side and approached her roommate. She left her hand a few inches from her mouth and nose.

"She's not breathing!" Twila announced.

"What?!" Will exclaimed, glancing away from Trixie for one moment.

That moment was enough.

She made one brisk gesture, vanishing with a flash of light.

"Shit!" The norfolk glanced around. "Twila! Teleportation or Invisibility?"

Her gaze briefly lingered on Rarity before narrowing her brow. "T-teleportation. I'll go after her."

Will rose, already moving towards Rarity. "Do you think you'll have a chance against her?"

"I'm the only shot we've got. She's not getting away from us!" Twila fiercely announced, clapping her hands and disappearing in a similar flash of light.

Will pulled Rarity off the bed and laid her flat on her back. "Apple!" he announced. "I need you to do CPR. Do you know how?"

Jack nodded, wiping the blood away from her mouth as best she could.

"Keep her breathing. I'll run to the nurse's office and-"

"Go ta room 1768," Jack ordered with a point of her hand. "It's closer. Her name's Chylene. She'll have a BVM—that'll do better than CPR, won't it?"

Will nodded, taking off in a dead sprint out of the room.

Jack looked down at the tailor's body, tilting the paralyzed woman's head up. She opened the woman's violet lips and put her own bloody ones to it, exhaling gently. Jack watched the woman's chest rise and slowly fall. Jack took another breath and exhaled into the soul-folk once more.

"Don't die on me, Rare. Please," Jack whispered, her injuries all but forgotten on seeing Rarity's pitiful state. She took another breath and breathed life into the beauty once more. "Christ, Rare. _Please_."


	15. Justice

Trixie quickly loaded a duffel bag with what she could from her room. Tinctures, potions, bits, clothes—anything she didn't have nailed down. She had to get out of here and hit a train. It wouldn't be long before the entire school came awake and started hunting her. The soul-folk kept a level head about it, though. Wasn't like this was the first time she had been run out of town. She grabbed a worn and battered scroll and paused for the briefest moment as she saw a name on the top of the parchment, written not with a pen, but an old-fashioned quill and ink pot.

_Faust. _

Trixie scowled, briefly stunned by the memories that assaulted her.

Him, spending years in a basement, surrounded by books and writing. Always writing. Always writing and questioning things nobody cared to talk about most of the time—soups, ships, ceiling wax, cabbages and kings.

Her, wordlessly observing him as he perused her magical wares at the shop and, out of the blue, striking a conversation, which crossed from casual to curious with the sublimity of a quiet night. The subject? Transcending the limits of man.

Them, later devouring every book on the subject matter, studying consciousness, evidence of a soul, how to preserve the body of a corpse.

Them, channeling hundreds of spell variations onto dead hearts in an attempt to make them beat again.

Them, together on top of a desk, panting like feral dogs amid His notes and Her magic instruction books, her knees pressed up to her shoulders.

Him, slowly becoming more gaunt and pale as disease ate away at his innards, leaving him wracked with pain and dull in his mind.

Her, at His funeral, once the disease ate its fill.

Her, one cold night with a shovel and a collection of worn, scribbled notes with archaic instructions.

Her, using Their notes and bringing something that was and was not Him back.

Trixie threw the image away—she shouldn't dwell on the past. They were painful, bittersweet memories that gave her drive and ambition. They gave her a want to be stronger, to learn how to harness the power she _knew_ she had swimming in her body.

Once she learned that, she would have death itself under her control, just as Faust longed to have all those years ago. All she needed now was bits—she had had her fill of schoolwork, and deep down, Trixie knew she could outperform every teacher.

Then again, Trixie could do that even before entering the academy. If it wasn't for the scholarship she had received from Dorcas Enterprises, then she wouldn't have even bothered. Of course, that had at least lead to a job...

A shame her and Dorcas's business transactions had to end so abruptly—he had given her a quarter of their agreed sum as "a token of good faith." With just that stipend, she could be set for at least three years, and that was if she spent lavishly and didn't work. All she needed to do was get away from the school, travel—west perhaps, it was farther away from prying eyes—and continue her study. By the time she got through, Trixie had no doubt in her mind that she'd be able to bring the dead back as they were.

It was just a matter of escaping here...

She felt in her pocket and grasped the reassuring weight of a vial. The woman gave a debating roll of it in her hands, then lifted up the weight.

_Don't, _a small part of her warned. Caution didn't beget greatness, Faust would say.

Dead, rotting, empty Faust.

Recklessness didn't do him any favors, and Stairway this soon after her earlier dose was reckless. She let it drop into her pocket again.

With one more brief glance around, Trixie gave a small gesture and teleported outside, landing with a grunt not ten feet past her dorm room's window.

Seemed like she was about out of juice. Normally, spellwork like that wouldn't have even stopped her in the slightest. She really needed to rest.

As long as she was just a bit quicker, she'd have all the rest she could ever need.

With an adjustment of her collar, Trixie turned and began the long walk towards the train station.

000

Jack gave life into Rarity's mouth once more, watched as her chest rose and slowly deflated. It was all the farmer could do to keep from panicking at the sight of Rarity being so lifeless. So limp.  
_Shut up an' keep on keepin' on, _she warned herself, steadying her violently shaking hands and ignoring the fire burning her face. She took another swallow of air and breathed into Rarity.

The rhythm was broken by the sound of heels clicking rapidly down the hallway. Chylene, followed promptly by Will, entered, each carrying a handful of medical supplies.

"Is she still not breathing?" Chylene asked, all trace of the timid woman she normally was gone as she opened a small case and pulled out a device that sorta reminded Jack of a plastic milk bottle, if a bit wider and softer. She guessed it was a BUI.

"N-nah," Jack muttered, looking back down at the tailor. Without thinking, Jack moved over to Rarity's side to give Chylene space to work with—she held the woman's hand and looked grimly to the floor.

Chylene inserted the BUI over Rarity's mouth and started to slowly clench and unclench it. "You need to take care of yourself too, Jack," the pink-haired girl whispered, not looking away from her own work.

"Not 'til Rarity's fine. Then I'll get patched up."

"Well, simply from a medical perspective, the turbocurine should only keep the skeletal system paralyzed for about four hours or so."

"An' after that?"

Chylene offered the smallest smile under her worry-stricken features. "As long as she wasn't exposed to any other drug, that's it. She'll make a full recovery."

Jack cradled Rarity's hand tightly against her chest. "Thank God."

Will spoke up from near the door. "And if there were other drugs mixed in?"

The pink-haired woman gave a tiny shrug. "Then it's a case-by-case basis." She glanced over to Jack after a moment. "Though just from a brief look over her, I d-don't think she's physically injured, aside from the temporary paralysis. So I'm sure she's fine."

Jack nodded and continued to sit by Rarity. Now that the tailor was alright, the farmer was starting to again feel the solid, agonizing burn of her ruined face. Sucking in a breath, she briefly ran a finger over her disfigured nose, hissing slightly at the light touch of her hand.

"Apple," Will ordered, "come here."

Jack rose, putting Rarity's hand gently to the ground, and took a few steps towards Will. "Yeah?"

"You should have told someone where you were going," he sternly said, staring down at the tall woman.

"Told Gilda-"

"You told her you were going to check out the dormitories. That's not a specific room, Apple."

Jack clutched her face, feeling a throbbing headache coming for her. It was like the cherry on top of sundae. "Didn't know I was gonna come here 'til it happened, mostly."

Iron Will gave a grunt and crossed his arms in thought. "A whim?"

"A whim," Jack agreed. It was only a half-truth, but still better than no truth at all.

"Lucky girl," he replied, scratching his shaggy facial hair.

The blonde paused, then, after a swallow, she limply gestured at her face. "This look _lucky_?"

Will uncrossed his arms. "We'll get you back to winning beauty pageants in no time, Apple. All we got to—"

He shut up mid sentence, launching his hand with the speed of a whip-crack towards Jack's nose. In one fluid move he squeezed it in between his massive fingers and pulled her nose right and up.

Jack heard a popping, grinding noise that felt like it came from the inside of her brain. Pain erupted from her skull, sending waves of agony down her face. If it hurt when Trixie broke it, then Will messing with it was a living hell. She cried out, clutching the furiously bleeding nose in one hand and collapsing down to her knees. Tears ran freely down both her eyes as she glanced up, asking Will a question he didn't even have to hear to answer.

"Better to set broken bones as soon as you can, before they can start to heal wrong. Sorry, Apple," Will emphatically said.

"_Bastard_," Jack choked out, trying to rise but stumbling as her legs gave out. Will caught her and sat her back down.

"Rest," he said.

Jack shook her head, still clutching her nose and trying to stand again.

_"_Twila will take care of the soul-folk. _Rest."_

"Let Twila do all the work?! Hell no!" Jack snapped back, rising to her feet.

"And what are you going to do—bleed on her? Sit, Apple. That's an order." Will gave a gesture to the ground, staring sternly at his student.

Jack opened her mouth, then shut it with a frown. She sat, hunched over and staring across the room at Rarity. "The hell was I supposed ta do, Will?" she asked after a moment's pause, putting a hand to her eyes. "I got played like a fiddle, there wasn't a damn _thing_ I coulda done different."

William swallowed hard at seeing her pain. "Apple..."

She scowled at the giant. "An' I've done my best under ya. I learned a good amount on fightin'. Even then, I couldn't lay a finger on that girl, now Rarity's..." Jack hunched further over and drew a heavy breath. "_God._"

"Rarity's going to be fine. You heard the doc over there." Will pointed over to Chylene with a tilt of his chin. The norfolk took a few steps, heading towards the hallway. "I'm gonna go get a nurse and inform some of the patrols what happened. Sit tight, Apple. It's close to over."

Jack didn't even bother looking up.

000

A loud pop announced Twila's presence to the empty room as she materialized just to the side of Trixie's bed.

It had taken her a bit longer than she would have liked on getting here—she had never been in the magician's room; as such, she had misjudged the teleportation trajectory and ended up at a wrong spot on campus. She quickly scanned the room and noticed the disarray. Drawers lay gutted and open, shelves were swept bare, save for a few bottles on the floor, and dozens of books across different subjects were scattered to the winds.

Trixie was on the run.

Twila shut her eyes and focused. Eliminated all thoughts of the outside world until she could feel magic pooling throughout her body. She let her aura seep out, until she found a small, blue trail in the darkness of her mind, no wider than a ribbon. She mentally pulled it and nodded.

Trixie's aura. The showwoman had either tried to suppress it but was too exhausted to completely seal it off, or was low enough on magical strength that she hadn't covered her tracks and was just trying to get as far away as possible before being chased.

Either way, Twila found herself at an advantage. With another brief gesture, she vanished from the room and began the chase.

000

Trixie walked through the fields, irritated at the clumps of grass that clung and tugged at her stylish purple robes. While the road had been tempting, she knew it wouldn't be long before people began looking for her—best to keep away from any possible witnesses until she got on board a train at St. Charles.

As she climbed a hill, she glanced behind her and nearly froze.

Not even five hundred feet away was Twila Shields. Banged up, winded, but determination was etched on her ebony face like a carving.

Trixie briefly gave thought to running, but knew she just didn't have enough energy in her to do it. Instead, she turned towards the academy's second best student and threw her arms out theatrically.

"Something Trixie can do for you?" the magician flippantly called out, her cloak flapping in the evening breeze. Thunder rumbled across the dark, cloudy sky.

"Give up," Twila shouted back, taking a few steps towards the base of the hill.

"Why?" Trixie asked as she stared down at the soul-folk. "Trixie will be arrested, and sentenced to death, when she has such a promising future ahead of her. I refuse. What you should do is walk away."

"I am certainly not letting you leave."

Trixie looked down on Twila from her vantage point. "Then I'll kill you where you stand." The soul-folk snapped her hand forward, splaying her fingers out. The earth standing before Twila began to shift and distort—Trixie threw her hand to the side, and a torrent of mud swallowed Twila whole, encasing her in wet, slimy dirt before changing directions and hauling her inside the hill, like a giant shoveling food into its waiting maw. Once the earth had settled and retreated back to its original location, Trixie adjusted her hat, and continued walking.

000

Twila was coated with dirt; pressed in from every angle in her earthen coffin. Her chest burned from the breath she had been holding ever since getting caught by the other's spell, and her eyes were blinded in the pitch dark ground.

_Spells. Small ones—remember the injured arm, _Twila thought. First, she focused her magic into tracing Trixie. She felt the magician's aura below her feet and slowly moving right.

_I'm upside-down_, Twila thought. She flexed her fingers, channeling magic into her digits and wiggling her hand from pinkie to thumb, then back again. Slowly, the dirt got caught up like it was in a gravitational pull. It circled around her body, shifting clockwise until it left a small cocoon of air around her hands and mouth to breath, which she inhaled greedily.

She had to get out of here—the air wouldn't last long. She needed out and she needed out _now_.

The soul-folk prepared a teleportation spell, but reconsidered. That spell might play right into Trixie's plan—the woman might be anticipating something of that sort.

Twila gave only one more brief thought. If Trixie was prepared for her just flashing out, maybe she needed to do something a bit more low key...

The scholarly woman channeled magic into her good hand and watched, fascinated as it almost instantly began to change. Her delicate fingers hardened, becoming calloused and leathery. Her palm bowed in, becoming shovel-like as her fingernails stretched into talons that would make any griffon-folk envious. Twila began digging, effortlessly tossing dirt and rotating herself upright. She tunneled out of the base of the hill, ending up just a few paces away from Trixie, who glanced behind her in surprise at Twila's sudden ambush. Twila wasted no time morphing her hand back to normal and opening her palm towards the silver-haired woman. A small hum, then a force generated from her palm, launching a ball of condensed air that cracked Trixie across the eye. The woman launched off her feet from the blow, spinning wildly and landing hard into the dirt. She weakly rose in a huff as Twila freed herself from the hole and clamored to her feet.

"Why can't you just lie down and die?" the silver haired girl barked, clasping her face in a hand.

"You first," Twila retorted. Trixie's grin threatened to overtake her entire face. With a swift gesture of her arm she made a sweeping motion in front of her just as Twila launched another ball of air. Her projectile came within a foot of Trixie before hitting a soft, invisible wall that flashed blue as her spell impacted it.

_Shield spell._ _Figures. _Twila scowled, slowly circling the woman.

Trixie reached into her pocket, producing a vial filled with a glowing blue powder. She stared defiantly at Twila as she uncorked the concoction and inhaled it deeply through her nostril.

The effect was almost instant. Her eyes snapped open and her hands involuntarily clenched, shattering the vial in her gloved hand. She gazed down at Twila.

"I'm running late. What do you say about finishing this?"

Twila didn't reply, rather, she continued to observe Trixie and cycle through what spells she could call forward in a moment's notice.

The magician raised her hands above her head and gestured to the heavens. Twila fired another halfhearted sphere of air. It impacted against the barrier and fell lamely to the ground. That thing wasn't going to break without major force—something Twila couldn't do with only one good hand. She'd have to wait until Trixie manually disabled the shield by walking through it or by channeling another spell.

It all came down to what happened next.

The heavens turned a dark shade of red—the ground underneath Twila's feet lost its luster, turning a charred, grimy black the consistency of soot. She stared hard at Trixie, not sure what exactly was happening. This wasn't an illusion spell, she knew that just from instinct. Something was coming. Something big.

Trixie stood like a mountain, her arms still wide and splayed towards the heavens, and her hat and clothes blew violently in an unfelt breeze. Despite the wind, it was quiet. Not the still quiet of a fall evening outside, rather, this was the dead silence of a closed library, the empty noise of a morgue. It was as if life itself had left the premise.

In a roundabout way, she was right.

Dozens of small spots around the field erupted, spraying dirt across the dying grass. From the newly-formed holes came something that froze Twila in place.

The rotting, decayed remains of beasts of all shapes and sizes began to slowly claw their way out of their earthen prison. Foxes, wolves, cattle and a single man all rose and stood dumbly on their boney hooves and feet, staring blankly ahead with their partially melted eyes and paying no mind to the entrails dripping down their maggot infested skin.

Only one word ran through Twila's mind as she took in the abominations in front of her.

_How?_

Necromancy was a high-level magic that _required_ an alchemical ring around the body, in addition to protective salts and wards. For Trixie to use it not once, but over twelve times, and have them under her command...

"You see, don't you?!" Trixie shouted, fatigue giving her voice a weak slur. "You see how your power is _nothing_ compared to mine?!" She thrust her hands towards Twila; the army of the dead began to limp towards her, each twisting and jittering like puppets on limp string. Twila's brain went into overdrive, tearing through the spells she could cast without looking into her Dreamscape like she was possessed, going through every possible choice on how to approach such monsters.

_ I should conjure a silver item... cross, sword, something like that. The residual dark magic tainting their skin is easily absorbed by silver, weakening them considerably._

_ No, _she argued to herself, clenching her fist. _Not with that many of them. There's no way I could fight that many off at a time, even with a blade. Not enough time for a salt ward. Not enough time for _anything.

_There's one thing... _she clenched her teeth tightly together as she realized the perfect spell for this, taught to her by the Daywalker herself. The only question was if she'd be able to even move after completing the spell. It was a crapshoot, but it was better than waiting for the creatures to tear into her flesh.

She pulled her hand back to her chest and breathed out, trying her best to calm her racing heart. If she was going to use a technique Celestia created, she'd have to focus and gain tranquility. She took another breath and shut her eyes as images flew through her thoughts. Caballo's sun tenderly smiling at her during their lessons together. The few brief, fleeting moments when Celestia took Twila's hand into hers. The sweet, delicate noise of her laugh.

She opened her eyes and limply extended her hand above her head. She felt magic delicately kiss her fingertips and settle into her palm, the consistency like a ball of mist. It soon gathered, taking shape into a golden sphere of light lazily swimming in her hand. The ball expanded, changing from a baseball to a bowling ball in seconds. When it grew to the size of a beach ball, and Twila could feel the strain of magic in her bones, she struck, bringing the ball of energy to her chest and pointing her palm towards the parade of abominations.

The magic came out like a slow, delicate vapor, expanding into a wall of misty, golden light that crawled along the air. The creatures marching towards her stepped into the advancing cone of light.

The effect was almost instant. The light settled on them and began dissolving their rotting flesh, burning the monster's bodies in righteous, cleansing flame, leaving nothing but blackened skeletons that quickly crackled and turned to ash. The magic throbbing through her arm strained Twila; she sunk to a knee, but refused to cancel the spell. The rest of the monsters marched forward, like cattle to a butcher—meeting their fate in neat little rows. When the last one, the man, collapsed, so did Twila, pitching forward and landing hard on her chest. She tried to rise, managing to get one foot under her before collapsing again, rolling onto her back and staring at the sky. She could feel a wetness trickle down an eye—she had seen enough people overuse their magical powers to know that it wasn't water.

Twila heard slow footsteps hobble towards her. Trixie came into her view, looking every bit as ragged as Twila. Black veins pulsed and all but glowed from her sweat as she stared down at Twila. Blood ran freely down one eye—she ignored it, swaying slightly on her feet as she forced herself to stand.

"Th-that wasn't terrible," Trixie panted out, blinking rapidly and swaying like a tree in the wind. "I had expected my spell to finish you off. The fact that you're still..." She shook her head and snapped her fingers. A small dagger made of pure energy sprang to life in her hands, its blue, sputtering aura sporadically lighting the night. "Doesn't matter. Trixie's ending this."

She brought the dagger back and launched forward; Twila gestured weakly with her hand. Pain shot in rolling waves throughout her body as she conjured a spell. For a brief moment, Twila thought she had overwhelmed her magic too much and wouldn't have any left to channel, but her powers came to her, albeit muted. Tepid. A small shield, like Trixie had conjured earlier, blocked the magical dagger, deflecting it away and causing it to dissipate from Trixie's hand. She growled in response, kicking Twila hard in the ribs. Twila gasped but was too weak to even move her arms to defend herself.

Trixie summoned another blade, this one far more potent and wicked looking. "It's over," she growled.

Twila did her best to remain composed. "For you," she quietly said, taking in slow, pained breaths as she mentally cut off the magic that flowed in her body, trying to avoid straining herself any more than she already had. The woman was lucky enough that the shield spell she had cast didn't send her over the edge of her magical limits and into death's clutches.

Luck that Trixie didn't seem to share. Her other eye watered, then left a red trail down her pale skin. She stood over Twila, the blade hoisted above her as frozen as her body and staring straight ahead at an unseen object in the distance—a shiver ran through her as a two twin trails of blood ran down her nose and the corners of her mouth. The magic dagger she had conjured vanished and her eyes lobbed upwards as her body limply slumped forward.

She lay for what felt like hours as the wind blew over her body. Shadows crept and danced along her vision as the rain began falling. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw movement.

A man, obscured by the darkness. He limped forward, hunched over and smelling like mold. As he came to her, she recognized his face.

Faust. Or, what was left of him. His half-rotted, skeletal face grinned down at her as he leaned forward, his bony hand outstretched and slowly approaching her cheek.

_It was an illusion. It _was _an illusion It was an illusion Itwasnaillusion, _she frantically thought, the sight turning her brain into mush.Trixie tried to struggle, but didn't have even an ounce of strength left in her. She couldn't even scream as he touched her with his cold, warmth-stealing hand.

It was with a whimper that the Great and Powerful fell.


	16. Ronnel

The sound of Jack beating a punching bag to an inch of its life filled the musty room. Her graceful strikes rained against the bag with the precision of a surgeon. Jabs, crosses, hooks. She performed without any mental input, her mind far away from where she stood.

It had been three of the longest days of her life. Eventually fearing the worst, Will had gone searching for Twila. She had been found catatonic, laying limply in the rain alongside the body of Trixie. Once Twila was able to speak again, she said Trixie had overused her magic—more or less cooked her brain, from what Jack could gather from Twila's extensive vocabulary. A bit of magic transfer from Celestia and the girl made a decent recovery, with instructions to not use her magic over the next few days. With that in mind, she moved over to something else to eat away at her time. Twila had taken to reading over everything she could regarding the late Trixie: notes, grades, her letters—anything she could get her hands on. The farmer should have been worried; after all, Trixie had been a necromancer according to Twila. Yet, she trusted the soul-folk; girl had a good head on her. Whatever she was looking for regarding Trixie wouldn't involve something wicked.

Jack twisted her body, dodging an imaginary blow and countering with a hard elbow to the bag's side. Her thoughts turned to the other victim of that night.

Rarity.

She had been taken to Camelot and was currently being treated at one of the best hospitals in Caballo. That was all Jack knew. They were restricting visitation to family only, and the only information she could pry from anyone over the past few days was simple lip service of 'stable, but not improving.'

Jack scowled, slamming her fists even harder against the bag in an effort to drown out her anger. She hadn't been sleeping; every time she shut her eyes, the sight of Rarity's limp, delicate body being hauled onto a stretcher woke her up again. There had been one night of rest, thanks to some medication Will had smuggled to her, but that was a fleeting thing that filled her with visions of fantastical nightmares, gray beach sands, garish monsters...

Jack paused, breathing heavily as she put her hands to the sides of her cotton wife-beater then lifted her shirttail and took to wiping her face, wincing slightly at the unusual architecture of it. She could take off the bandage soon—maybe even would later today—the docs were astounded at how fast her nose was healing; she'd need to be careful for a few weeks, thing was still tender, but thanks to Will's quick actions, it had set 'like a glove on a hand,' according to one doctor.

The woman sighed, letting her shirt drop and reaching up to touch the elephant in the room. She ran a thumb along the lined off-white dip in her face that stretched across almost her whole cheek, ending a scant inch from her mouth.

Jack felt like a contradiction. Her hands, as she had experienced before, could take a life as easily as breathing. But when it came to protecting Rarity, she couldn't do a single thing—she was a helpless child. If Trixie hadn't showboated and toyed with her, there was no doubt in Jack's mind that she'd be dead.

"A warrior has scars, Apple. There's no shame in an honor mark," a deep voice to her side said.

Jack hid her surprise at Will's stealthy arrival with a derisive snort. "Some warrior. Rarity's in the hospital, an' I couldn't even get a hit off."

"But she's not dead. Neither are you."

She turned to face the giant; he sat inside the boxing ring, resting his meaty arms over the ropes and letting his legs dangle over the edge. Jack wordlessly stepped up and joined him nearby, waiting for him to continue.

Will stared straight ahead, his scruffy and scarred face hundreds of miles away. "Norfolk have a word: _ronnel_."

She shrugged, waiting on him to continue. "What's it mean?"

"Wheel." Will looked over his palm with his unbandaged eye as he clenched and unclenched a hand. "But there are a few different meanings behind the word for us. _Ronnel_ is a life philosophy many of my people follow." Will put his hand down and glanced Jack's way. "You travel life and become stronger, no matter what stops you along the way. No matter what knocks you down, Apple, you rise from it and march. Wagon wheels along the Path. We take the Path, and the Path takes us. A simple fact there, with no mess or fuss." He put a paternal hand to her shoulder. "You simply march on. The Path will show you the way."

She shut her eyes briefly in thought. "I jus' ain't sure, Will... ain't never felt this—hell, t-this weak before. My life's one thing, but I'm scared fer Rarity."

"If you think you're weak, then we'll work until things don't look bleak." He pointed a finger at Jack. "You're wanting to protect the girl, right?"

She nodded, not even a pause or hesitation. "I ain't lettin' no one hurt her again." Her conviction quickly fell. "But what can I do ta stop 'em? I ain't no soul-folk, Will. The other day, she coulda jus'..." Jack looked down at her calloused hands. "Anythin' I can do, one a them can an' then some."

"Wings and spells—"

"Don't make a man. I know, I know. Ya said that the other day," Jack dismissed with an irritated frown. Will smiled slightly at the woman.

"You remind me of Jiranda."

Jack ran the name through her brain. "Yer wife?"

Will slowly nodded. "She used to get so annoyed at me telling her crap like that. Deep down though, I think she enjoyed it." He rose from his seat and stared at the farmer. "She would of liked you."

"I'm sure I woulda liked her too."

The man seemed like he was going to say something, then quickly changed his mind, rolling his shoulder instead. He shuffled on his feet, then glanced at the farmer once more. "Apple, I've never been one to beat around the bush: I want you to be my personal apprentice."

Jack crossed her arms and quirked a brow. She spoke low. "Will, are ya jus' pityin' me?"

"If my pity was yours to take, I woulda baked you a damn cake."

"Then why me? Why not Gilda, or Dash, or, or, _anyone_ else?"

He put his hands to his hips. "Because you've got the mindset—you're a warrior through and through."

"Fer the love-a..." Jack held the back of her right hand up and pointed at her Mark. "Ya see this? Apples. I live on an' apple farm, Will. Ain't too hard ta add up."

He smirked. "You were a late bloomer when it came to it, I bet."

Jack scratched at her head. "Last one in my class. But how'd ya...?"

Will pointed a finger straight up. "Because I think it's a mark with a deeper meaning than what you're giving it credit for. From what I've studied about the folk race, most of the late carriers have a more symbolic relationship with their mark then someone who's, hell, I dunno, good at hairdressing."

"I ain't the type ta go deep. Ya know that. 'Sides," she continued, standing up herself and moving to take a drink from the water bottle she carried nearby. "How deep can ya go with apples?"

"I bet when you got it, you had three members of your immediate family."

She stopped once more, nearly spitting out her drink. "Will, yer startin' ta scare me. Yeah. Bloom had jus' been born 'fore I headed to Manhattan."

"Do you remember what you were thinking about when you..." He held up the back of his hand towards her, clenching and unclenching it.

She gave pause, tilting her head back in heavy contemplation. "Hell. If I'm rememberin' right, was jus' thinkin' 'bout how I didn't fit in Manhattan, an' was confused 'bout where I could be accepted at, warts 'n' all. Then I got ta thinkin' about Granny an Mac—I knew she had the know-how on takin' care of a kid, an' Mac was always pretty good on that kinda stuff too, but..." Jack closed her water bottle and put it to the side, before reaching down to throw on her button-up shirt. "Guess I was kinda worried 'bout 'em, especially with harvest comin' up so quick-like." She gave a arced gesture with a palm above her head. "Next thing I see is this bright rainbow. An' the thing is... it's pointin' home." She

worked her way carefully up each button, still thinking about her experience. "Guess I took it as a sign—Paul on Damascus road an' all that. Next thing I know..." She shrugged, glancing at her hand. "Ain't much of a story, but it's what happened."

"And it tells me all I need to know. That mark on your hand isn't for you. It's for your family."

She narrowed her brow as she grabbed her bottle and a wallet, which she quickly rammed into her back pocket. "Hey now. I'll have ya know I'm a pretty damn good farmer. Marks don't lie."

"They don't," he agreed, moving behind the ring and bending down. He pulled up a small satchel and began thumbing through what looked like dozens of notes and letters. "Which is exactly why I want to guide you down the Path. Because I think your talent's more than picking apples." He gave a grunt in triumph, pulling out a single note from the ceaseless letter pile that poured from his bag. "I think your talent's about taking care of your own, be it through a plowshare or a sword. You can do _anything_, Apple." Will held out the paper to Jack, who took it with a raised brow. She froze. On the front was her name, with the unmistakable wide, looping, and crisp penmanship of Rarity. Jack tore into the envelope and began reading.

_Sorry for not contacting you until now, darling. The doctors simply abhorred me doing anything more than complete bedrest. I wanted to tell you that, aside from a lingering cough and an occasional failure to cast magic, I am well. According to my doctors, even these minor symptoms will go the wayside within a month or two at the most._

_ To get to the point, as I'm sure you wish me to do, I am announcing my arrival back to Saint Charles. The train should arrive at six o'clock on the evening you receive this note._

An obvious, hesitant pause, then the lettering became a bit more self-conscious and subdued.

_I pray to see you there, Jack. It would do my heart quite well to see another familiar face during these troubling times, and I long for the comfort of your arms enveloping my frame._

_ With the greatest of expectations, _

_ Rarity._

Jack read the letter, then reread it, then reread it once more. It was good hearing she was OK. Hell, better than good, it was some of the best news she had heard lately, even if the last part had been a bit sappy. Will gave a chuckle at Jack's expression.

"Wouldn't have expected you and someone like her to be... you know..." he said, reaching deeply once more into his satchel.

Jack gave a slow nod in agreement. "Neither did I. 'Least at first." She folded the letter and put it into her breast pocket. "She's got a lot more to her than jus' bein' a rich seamstress, ya know?"

"Mmm," he grunted, pulling out a thin white robe. He walked over and held it out to the farmer.

"What's this?" Jack asked, glancing at the clothing.

"Well," Will began, scratching at a cheek and smirking, "the weapon I wanted to show you is here."

"An' the robe's used how?"

His smile dropped as he stared at the woman. "A weapon ceremony's an important thing for norfolks, especially weapons that have been around for as long as this one. I had to pull some favors just to have you _included_. Most events are norfolk exclusive, save for partners and offspring."

Jack gave a nod. "So jus' toss on the robe an' we'll both hit it. Gotcha."

He shook his head. "Gotta clean up first, Apple."

The farmer rolled her eyes. "I can't stink _that_ bad, Will—"

"It's symbolic, participants wash themselves before a ceremony," he instantly said. "Like you're cleaning your burdens away."

It dawned on the farmer; she nodded. "Ah, I gotcha."

Will turned, heading towards the door. "Anyway, just go to the hot springs, meditate in the water for a while, then meet me back by the fountain. Alright?"

"Alright."

000

Jack traveled north from the modest room that housed the academy's boxing ring, walking down a dirt path for about five minutes, until she came to a long circular wall lined with numbered doors. Steam rose from behind the wall, and Jack could hear the quiet, tranquil splash of water, alongside a few whispered conversations. Nearby the wooden barricade was a booth, where a blond haired girl in a gray sweater stood behind the counter, completely oblivious to the world. Jack approached her.

"Hey, uh, this where I go ta get a station fer the hot spring?"

She seemed to come back from her daze and glance up at Jack. "Yeah. Sorry. Was just distracted." The woman gestured behind her. "Yep! Numbered for your convenience, even!" She reached under the counter and pulled out two binders then cracked one open, revealing two palm sized cards. "We've been busy—I only got two stations left. Nine ok?"

"Number's a number," Jack replied.

The caretaker quickly moved one of the two cards into an almost filled-to-bursting binder.

"Great! Enjoy yourself!" the blonde proclaimed, smiling broadly at Jack.

Jack headed over to the doorways and wordlessly started to count over. Once she found her number, she entered and locked the door behind her.

It was about five minutes later that the blonde realized she had Jack's check-in card upside down.

000

The farmer shut the door behind her, finding herself in a small changing room. Jack stripped and crammed her clothes into one of the lockers set to the side. After stretching a bit, she walked farther into the room and rounded a corner leading to the spring proper. She came to the small archway leading outside and froze, her mouth dropping in shock.

Gilda lay half submerged in water, her head thrown back and her arms resting along the rim of the water. That, however, wasn't what drew Jack's attention.

Behind Gilda's back, spread out for the world to see, was a pair of wings. Not the ethereal, conjured wings of the sky-folk, but the connected, feathered wings of the griffons.

"W-what?" Jack whispered to herself, taking an unsure step back. Gilda lobbed her head forward at the noise, yawning.

They both stared at one-another for a moment, before Gilda awoke fully.

"What the hell are you doing here?!" she shouted, all but erupting out of the water and stomping towards Jack.

"I..." the farmer trailed off. She paused. "Wait, no. This ain't my fault. The receptionist said this stall here was open."

"That dumb bitch," Gilda snarled, spitting to the side. "I never should have came here while there was a temp worker minding the place."

Jack shook her head, still overwhelmed at what she saw. "Yer a griffon... but, I mean, ya don't look the part. Yer—"

Gilda stepped closer, glowering. "What? Too brown? Always hear about how we're nothing but pale skins?" She glanced down at her nude body. "Dye job." The woman put a finger in her mouth, showcasing her sharp teeth. "The fangs? Filed 'em." She continued, splaying out her fingers. "Same as the claws."

"Why?" Jack asked, narrowing her brow. "Are you tryin' ta—"

"Why the hell you _think_?!" she shouted, stepping even closer to Jack and shaking a finger up at the woman. "You have any idea how my people get treated in Caballo? No. You don't. You don't have a damn idea what I've gone through." She gestured behind Jack. "You've seen what Will thinks of griffon-folk, same as almost any other person around here. If anyone found out—if anyone looked deep enough into my records? I'm done. So don't even _think_ about telling anyone this or I'll wipe you off the face of the earth," she warned, pushing her finger hard into Jack's chest.

"I don't like bein' threatened," Jack countered, throwing Gilda's finger to the side then clenching her fists tightly. "'Sides, we both know ya ain't takin' me down like we are."

Gilda opened her mouth, then thought better of it, closing it quickly. A weary resignation spread over her body.

"What do you want?" she quietly asked, looking towards the ground.

The farmer paused on seeing Gilda's complete change. "What do ya mean?"

She glared at Jack defiantly, tears brimming at her eyes. "What else, you vulture? To not say anything. Money, or... or...?"

Jack raised her hands up. "Nothin'. I ain't that kinda gal."

Gilda scowled, wiping at her eyes. "_Everyone_ has a price, Apple, what's yours?"

"I ain't fer sale." The farmer crossed her arms over her breasts. "Take that money idea and blow it."

The griffon-folk looked over Jack, her face an unreadable mask. "Then you're gonna..."

"I ain't sayin' nothin' ta nobody. Yer an asshole, but if ya think I'd go outta my way ta ruin yer life, ya got another thing comin'."

"Why?"

"It ain't the Christian thing ta do, I ain't the type ta play dirty, I figure everyone's got at least one or two skeletons they ain't wanna show ta nobody—take yer pick."

Gilda pursed her lips, seeming to want to snap again at Jack. She instead gave a resigned sigh, turning and weakly walking back to the spring water. Jack couldn't help but shudder at seeing the stretched, jutting peaks of skin that connected Gilda's wings to her shoulder blades. The griffon-folk stepped inside, sinking into the water, then gestured for Jack to join her.

The farmer complied, sitting on the opposite end of the spring.

Gilda crossed her arms in deep thought as she stared at the water.

"What a lot of people don't realize is that us griffons were some of the first to suffer under 'The Retainers of the Wind.'" She gave an even, emotionless stare towards the farmer, her yellow eyes keenly looking over the woman. "I'm sure Will's mentioned them to you."

"Jus' that they were a cult or somethin'."

"You Caballens called it the Cult of the griffon... makes us sound like we were all in on it, yeah?" Gilda offered a wry smile. "My dad was an officer."

Jack gave a small nod of her head. "So he was part of the problem then."

"Kinda..." she admitted, glancing to the side. "But not willingly. He was a smart guy—part of a military division before the cult rose to power. They told him my ma's life would be in danger if he didn't help the effort." She crossed her legs and wiped casually at her nose. "He did what he had to."

Jack slowly nodded as the water lapped at her stomach, waiting for the woman to continue.

Gilda's large wings fluttered slightly as she looked grimly to the sky. "Where'd it get my old man? Hung for war crimes. He went down like a damn villain and for what? Doing the right thing?" She turned her head and spat once more. "That's why you keep your head low. Don't stick your neck out for anything."

The farmer still remained silent, unsure what to say to Gilda's outlook.

"Ma got me out of the country. I-I guess she didn't see much of a future for me there." The briefest flicker of a hurt smile crossed her mouth, then retreated. "Learned real quick you guys aren't fans of the wings. Or the other stuff."

"Guess it explains why yer always wearin' heavy clothes 'round yer chest," Jack quietly said.

"Keeping them wrapped hurts like a bitch—it's why I'm here almost every day. Hot water helps." The woman leaned back a bit more, submerging her upper back with a small groan. "I do what I can to not be obvious, no claws and the skin show that, but I... I can't cut 'em off. That's just too damn much." She scowled again, shaking her head. "I woulda killed to fly with Isabelle when we were younger. Woulda killed to do a lot of things with her."

Jack pursed her lips. "There's still time fer that." She met Gilda's gaze. "Talk ta her. Dash ain't the kind ta throw away an apology, ya hear?"

"She won't _listen_, hick. That's why I tried to have you talk to her for me."

"_Make_ her listen an'... maybe tell her 'bout this?"

The woman shook her head in disgust. "Hell no, man. She'll think I'm a freak!"

"She already thinks ya go out of yer way ta hurt her friends—freak's an upgrade ta that." Jack gave a stern point of her finger. "Give it ta her straight. It's the only thing ya can do."

Gilda sighed, but nodded anyway, running a finger over the surface of the pool. Jack decided that she had had enough; she rose, placing a hand over her hair and wringing out a bit of the excess water.

"Ya got my word: I ain't sayin' nothin' ta noone 'bout yer..." She gave a gesture towards Gilda's wings then turned, heading towards the changing room.

"Hey, Apple," the gray-haired woman called out as Jack entered the threshold of the locker rooms. Gilda offered the closest thing to a smile Jack had seen; a cross between a grimace and a smirk. "For being so square, you're not half-bad."

"An' I think there's maybe a bit buried in ya that's alright," Jack concluded with a nod.


	17. Reunion

Jack ran through the school grounds, an arm cradling her clothes as she tightened the band around the robe she wore. The knot she had tied earlier had come loose a few moments ago, giving a passing boy more than an eyeful, and she sure didn't want a repeat case. It was with a relieved breath when she found Will, wearing a surprisingly well-tailored red robe, pacing alongside the fountain. He spared a glance her way, then paused, doing a double-take.

"About time. Was thinking you had decided not to come."

"Said I was gonna," Jack replied. "Already hatin' this robe, though."

"Never was a fan either," Will agreed. "But you gotta do what you gotta do."

"I'm changin' after this thing's done, by the way." She lifted the clothes in her hand slightly. "Ain't wearin' this thing any longer than I gotta."

000

Will led Jack into the academy's dance hall, where the low glow of light from dozens of candles lined the floor all the way to the center of the room; as the two walked shoulder to shoulder in the dimness, Celestia and a wizened, old norfolk woman came into appearance. Behind them, dozens of norfolk men in masks. Will's men.

The woman rose from the large, coffin-sized box she sat on and leaned heavily on a walking stick. She stared at Jack through rheumy eyes.

"Who stands before me?" she asked, her voice a strange mixture of sweet, meek and powerful. Reminded Jack of her grandma during her better days.

"I'm—" the farmer began, only to get elbowed lightly in the ribs.

"Before you stands Jack of the Apple clan, daughter of Johnny and Aldonza, and future protege of William Kalaallit," Iron Will proclaimed.

"Why does she stand before me?" the old woman asked.

"She seeks to carry Durendal."

Jack raised a brow and subtly looked towards Will, then Celestia, utterly clueless to what was going on.

_Play along. They're going to do a short, abridged ceremony for us, _the unmistakable voice of Celestia said, her words bouncing and echoing through Jack's mind. The farmer glanced again at the Daywalker. Celestia pursed her lips and clasped her hands tightly together at the front of her armor, sparing not a glance to Jack.

"The blade crafted by our far-traveling kinsmen, carried by your father, his, and his before. Why are you granting it to one such as her?"

"She carries the heart of the norfolk in her, despite her lack of pure blood." Will reached to Jack and gave a firm, proud shake of her shoulder. "_Ronnel_, Old Mother. She marches on the Path. As such, I want her to carry my legacy."

The old norfolk nodded, a smile slowly creeping across her ancient face. "Our Kalaallit sings the songs of his father. You have my blessing, as well as the blessings of your family."

She curtsied and gave a small tap to her left shoulder as Celestia mimicked the expression. Iron Will clenched a hand over his heart and gave a small bow, followed by a tap to the back of his hand, Jack followed him step-by-step. When she completed the gesture, Will's grim expression broke slightly.

"That's the masculine gesture of thanks, you should have followed Celestia and the Patron's lead."

"Oh."

The old woman smiled and gestured to her side, towards the large box on the floor. "Will, if you would do the honors."

He moved over to the wooden chest and lifted its top clear off, then pulled out something that made Jack visibly pause.

Cradled reverently in the giant's hands was a massive, oversized sword, immaculate and flawless from its large, palm-sized blue with gold-trim pommel, to its wide, thick, mirror-polished blade. The handle was a yellowed spiral of metal, and its handguard reminded Jack of the open mandible of an ant.

Her first thought was how beautiful the weapon was; the sword was a far cry from the dull weaponry she had been training with. Her second thought, one that was heading frantically towards the forefront of her mind:

_How would anyone but a norfolk use that?_

Jack was no shrimp. She stood taller than every woman in her classes; could claim that for most men too, yet she felt like a midget next to Iron Will and the blade he carried.

The giant rested the tip of the sword on the high-polished wooden floor, leaving a single blemish on the flooring's flawless body.

_Bet the guy that cleans this sucker jus' woke up in a cold sweat, _Jack thought.

"Take it," Will instructed, resting his hand easily on the guard.

Jack stepped forward, wincing when she saw the weapon's pommel went almost to her hairline. She grabbed the handle and tensed up, lifting with all her might and nearly falling backwards. Will snapped to action, grabbing her by the arm and hoisting her up.

"What the hell are you doing?"

"I-it's light," Jack marveled, holding the blade with one hand and slowly twisting it as she examined it from every angle.

"See?" Will smugly asked the other two observing them, a proud grin on his face. "This is what Caballan metalworkings get you—poor girl didn't know what a _real_ two handed sword was like."

"Do what now?" Jack asked, briefly pulled away from her autopsy of the weapon.

Will took a step back, running a thumb over his nose. "You've been around shoddy craftsmanship, Apple. A one-handed weapon here weighs about ten pounds—you realize how heavy that is for a weapon like that?" Throwing his arms to the air, he exclaimed. "By my ancestors! That's more than a Scottish claymore or _Zweihander_ from Germany! It's like nobody here can understand that those things were crafted for _speed_ and _finesse _in addition to their power, no matter what a Caballan smith would—"

Celestia coughed, breaking Will away from his passionate lecture. The man scratched at his unruly hair.

"Iron Will apologizes. He simply gets carried away in regards to weaponry." He offered a youthful, almost boyish smile towards his student. "Take a few swings. Let me see your form."

Jack nodded, giving the blade a small flourish as she adjusted it in her grip. She planted her boots into a spread-open stance and gave a hard horizontal swing, then quickly took a step forward, bringing the blade over her head and down. She stopped easily at her waist, still silently amazed at the weapon's lack of heft. However, she noticed something at the very base of the sword's handle. An odd, miniscule gear that reminded her of a flint lighter Macintosh used to own.

"Hey Will? What's this do?" she asked, casually pulling the gear downward.

"Wait! Don't—"

A loud grinding noise assaulted her senses and the extended prongs of the guard snapped inward, tightly squeezing the very base of the sword. On the flats of the blade, a blue marking appeared, almost instantly traveling from the prongs and snaking its way up the metal. When the blue markings reached the center of the blade and the tip of the coloration curved inward, Jack felt an almost painful amount of weight fill her hands—she toppled forward, being caught by Will's powerful arms, but losing the grip of her blade. It slammed hard to the ground; splinters of the polished wood erupted into the air as the weapon dug itself deep.

Jack stared down at the ruined floor in complete surprise. "W-what the hell?"

"Iron Will was, uh, gonna get to that," he explained rubbing his forehead. He reached down to the handle and gave a small flick upward to the gear attached to it. The blade lost the blue, water-like markings at its sides instantly, and Will easily hoisted it up from the wrecked flooring then handed it over to Jack once more. The farmer gave a cautious glance down at the weapon.

"It gonna do that again?" Jack asked.

"If you adjust that gear down."

She frowned. "Why in the Sam Hill do ya need—"

"Dragons, golems, dullahans—not all creatures fear a blade. Sometimes you need a bludgeoning weapon, or something to help your weapon pierce through scale. It's why a master smith and a whisperer worked together; made the weight adjustable." Will nodded towards the sword. "Durendal was made for a knight even before Arthur's time. A man that they say was even stronger than the King." He slapped her on the shoulder. "And he was a square peg like me and you, Apple." Will raised a finger, looking as if he was in the middle of a philosophical debate, rather than discussing arms. "With a weapon like this at your side, the only thing you need to do now is train your body." He then paused, glancing at the floor and kicking aside a piece of wood. "And I guess I should report this, uh, accident... man." Will scratched his scraggly beard. "Shit's probably coming out of my pay."

000

After Will left the ceremony to find a janitor, Jack bid farewell to Celestia and 'Old Mother,' as the norfolk had put it, and started towards her dorm. When she got to the main lobby, Celestia was waiting by the large window of the room, in obvious thought. Jack paused, glancing behind her, then towards the Daywalker.

"How in the...?" the farmer trailed off. "You were jus'—"

"Teleportation spell," Celestia replied, moving towards Jack, then glancing at her back, where the sword sat proudly in its sheath. "Do you plan to carry that everywhere?"

Jack flicked an eye towards it. "Nah, ain't got no reason to. Jus' haulin' it back ta my room an' puttin' it by my armor."

Celestia tapped the hilt of her own sword. "There's no shame in keeping yourself armed, provided you know to draw your blade only in desperate times."

She glanced to the side, a small frown playing on her lips. "It don't feel right. Me havin' somethin' like this."

The all-folk put a hand on Jack's shoulder. "Will thought it was right."

"Guess so," Jack agreed, adjusting the strap as it bit into her robe. "No matter how much he pounds it inta me, though, ain't sure why."

"He sees himself in you," Celestia commented, taking a few steps forward and glancing towards the farmer. Jack complied, following her as they passed by several curious looks from the other men and women in the lobby.

"We're both pretty simple people, I guess," the farmer replied, turning and heading towards her dorms. "Click like you an' Twila."

Celestia gave a slow nod, her natural grace making the simple action carry a weighty impact. "I suppose in a way, yes. However, Twila, to me..." The Daywalker shook her head. "It's far from your cut and dry relationship."

"Ain't sure I get ya," Jack said, walking down the hallway lined with doorways.

"It's something I should speak only to my student about, Jack."

Silence rang through both their ears as they climbed a flight of stairs, then took a left.

"So, what was that deal with 'Ol' Mother' back there? An' how'd you get an invite?"

The princess quirked a brow, a smile at the corner of her mouth. "You do realize who you're speaking with, Jack. Gaining attendance wasn't difficult at all."

"Oh."

She gave a titter of laughter. "I'm joking, I wouldn't use my rank to interrupt an event like that without good reason. I actually knew Gauti when we were both children."

"Gauti?" Jack repeated, traveling down the hallway. "That the woman's name?"

Celestia nodded. "Yes. Gauti of Whitehearth, one of the high-priestesses of Almyra."

"An' Will's ma?"

She laughed, then looked over at Jack and noticed the farmer's serious face. "N-no, Jack." She tapped the pommel of Excalibur in thought. "'Old Mother' is merely a formal title given to women leaders, Will would have used 'Old Father' if there was a man running Whitehearth. They're in charge of weapon ceremonies, holiday prayers, wedding blessings, and the day-to-day affairs of a town."

"Traveled a long way fer a few minutes of talkin'," Jack said.

"If she's anything like me, she welcomes the break—I know I've been enthralled by my absence away from the council." Her kindly features briefly faded, replaced by a more somber expression. "I simply wish it was centered around less grim circumstances."

"We can hope it'll be the last of this nasty business," Jack replied, going to her door and opening it. She paused. "Uh, were ya wantin' ta come in?"

Celestia shook her head. "I was hoping to speak with your roommate."

The farmer stuck her head inside and noticed Dash's empty bed. "Outta luck. She ain't here."

"Pity." She glanced past the farmer. "May I come in for a moment?"

"Door's open," Jack answered, gesturing towards the back of the room. Celestia marched towards the window and held a hand to the glass.

A moments pause, then the all-folk smiled slightly. "She's flying."

Jack walked towards the woman. "How'd ya—magic, I'm guessin'?"

She tapped on the glass with a finger. The farmer traced where the Daywalker gestured and noticed Isabelle blasting through the sky, no more than the size of a bug at this distance.

"I suppose I should catch her." Celestia sighed. She spoke a few words under her breath in a language Jack couldn't even come close to comprehending, then stepped forward, pressing a hand though the glass as if it was water. She pressed the rest of her body forward, phasing through to the other side of the glass and summoning ethereal wings of the purest snow. The wall briefly rippled after she had passed through, but was once more solid when Jack gave a cautious tap at it with her finger.

Celestia turned and gave a small wave at Jack, her large and expansive wings keeping her easily aloft with every slow, lazy beat.

Jack dumbly returned the gesture. It was all she could do to raise her hand in a halfhearted wave as the all-folk turned and took off, her stance regal and beautiful as her pastel hair lazily floated behind her.

If Gilda wasn't kidding about Twila holding an interest in the woman, Jack couldn't blame her.

000

After a moment of rest, Jack got ready to meet Rarity at the train station. Normally getting ready just meant a quick splash of water across her face and picking the least dirty of her clothes. With Rarity coming home from the hospital, though, Jack decided to take a few extra steps. She combed her unkempt hair down a bit, getting it into a respectable braid, then dug through a small drawer at the foot of her bed, looking through the handful of clothes she'd call 'halfway respectable.' Jack paused when she noticed a well made dress suit and slacks that she hadn't wore in months, but knew fit her like a glove.

Rarity was good with that kinda stuff. Curiosity got the best of her; she sniffed a cuff.

Spiced apples. The perfume Rarity wore that night back at the dance.

Jack felt the bitter sting of tears prick her eyes. She sucked in a few heavy breaths, moving to the side of her bed and putting her face in her hands. The farmer let out a pained, choked sob, and tried to control her rapid breathing.

It wasn't fair. Rarity didn't deserve any of this. Never had. Girl that kind and beautiful shouldn't have to worry about shit like this. Didn't deserve what Blueblood had tried to do, didn't deserve what Trixie tried to, and almost did, do. Didn't deserve _nothin'_ like that.

Jack made a strangled groan, clenching her jaw and squinting her eyes shut. She rubbed them, furious at herself for crying.

_Stop bein' like this, _she quietly scolded herself. _It is what it is. Yer gonna stop. For her. What'd Will call it? _Ronnel_? March on, ya dummy._

The farmer exhaled in slow, shuddering breaths, then took a deep breath in, squeezing her kneecaps tightly in her calloused hands. The pep talk, if she could call it that, didn't do much to help the pain in her, but it had kept her from having a sudden breakdown. Kept herself collected. Kept herself from giving in to the red beast she felt clawin' at her gut there.

Rising, the farmer grabbed the suit and went into the bathroom to change.

000

Jack boarded a carriage heading to Ponyville, speaking to Hans as they made the trip in what felt like the blink of an eye. She soon came to the double doors leading into the town's train station. Jack sucked in a breath and tossed them open, making her way through to the train platform and freezing at the sight that greeted her.

Her friends all stood at the station, all waiting for Rarity's train. Dash, frowning with her arms crossed over her track suit, tapping her foot in irritation. Chylene, nervously picking at a small frayed part of her sweater sleeve. Pinkie sat down cross-legged on the concrete, talking exuberantly to a laughing Spike, her hair bounding in a rhythm with every shake and nod of her quickly moving head. Spike's wide, youthful eyes sparkled in amusement at whatever the woman was telling her.

Lastly, Twila, who sat at the corner of one of the station's benches, a book in her lap and a cane resting in arm's length. Jack approached the group.

"Hey, y'all."

Dash let out a low whistle. "Hayseed, all showing us up to her. Nice."

"Thought she might enjoy seein' me with a spit-shine. I reckoned it was the least I could do."

"H-how are...?" Chylene looked up at Jack's face, then hid behind her bangs, biting her lip.

"Scar's stayin'. Nose is gonna be good as new, acordin' ta the doc I spoke with."

"Scars are cool, at least," Spike offered with a shrug.

"Spike," Twila said, a slight warning in her tone. "I know you're simply wanting to help, but—"

"Nah, it's alright, sug," Jack dismissed. "All things considered, I was lucky. Could be dead."

"Saying it so nonchalantly..." Twila marveled.

"Thinkin' 'bout it too hard ain't the smartest thing ta do." Jack swallowed, glancing over the woman's own injures. "Feelin' any better?"

"I still suffer from the occasional dizzy spell, and my arm still has its problems, however, Celestia's been administering her magic into my body—that's exponentially increased my recovery rate."

Jack was pretty sure she had heard that word from Twila before, but was coming up dry. Way she said it, Jack guessed it was a good thing.

"She going back anytime soon?" Dash asked, walking towards the two. "And how long am I gonna have to wait for this damn train?" she added under her breath with a grumble.

"Tomorrow," the soul-folk replied. "The council's been getting restless without her guidance."

"An' are you gonna be alright without her?" Jack asked, moving and taking a seat on the opposite end of the bench.

Twila narrowed her brow. "And what do you exactly mean by that?"

"Does she really have to spell it out, egghead?" Isabelle asked, moving behind the two and resting her arms on the back of the bench.

Twila hung her head. "I suppose not."

"Ain't exactly what I was meanin', sug," Jack said, putting a hand to her chin. "Jus' makin' sure yer gonna be square."

"I... I will be, yes," she answered after a hesitant pause. "A few more days and I'll even be off of the cane." She met Jack's gaze. "We really were fortunate none of us were hurt critically."

"Missed out on everything..." Dash whined, slumping forward and draping her hands onto the bench's seat.

"Only a dummy goes lookin' fer that kinda shit," Jack sternly said, crossing her arms and glaring at Isabelle. "Ya have any idea how scary that—"

"Yeah, pal. I do." She gave a knowing look Jack's way. It wasn't long before a memory bubbled up.

"Guess ya do," the farmer admitted. The others listening in shared an unsure glance between themselves.

"Besides," Dash shrugged. "I'm not trying to glory hound here. For once." She gave an affectionate punch to Jack's shoulder. "Dummies like you need a hand sometimes, so, uh, sorry I wasn't there, bro," she quietly said.

"Ain't like ya coulda known, Dash. Don't worry 'bout it."

The athlete stood up. "Enough of this crap—where the hell's Rarity? I'm starving."

"Just wait a bit longer, Dashie!" Pinkie proclaimed. "I have a whole buncha tasty treats and meaty meats and scrumptious sides and delicious drinks!"

"Y'all havin' a party or somethin'?" Jack asked.

"Yeparooni!" Pinkie nodded, grinning enthusiastically. "I call it a 'Rarity just got out of the hospital and we should totally welcome her back with a party' party!"

The farmer nodded. "An' does Rarity know 'bout this?"

"Nope! It wouldn't be a surprise if she did, now would it?"

"It's just going to be a l-little one... I'm sure she'll be tired when she gets back," Chylene whispered.

"Indeed. It would be quite a problem, having a large scale event when she got back. It's just going to be us," Twila agreed. "Provided she's interested, at least."

"Totally," Dash agreed. "I mean, we won't just rope h—"

In the distance, they heard the whistle of a train. Everyone snapped to attention. Jack swallowed, nervously rubbing at her mouth and rising, stepping back behind everyone. As excited as she was at seeing Rarity, she couldn't help the small stone of dread in her gut.

"Ohmygosh,ohmygosh,ohmygosh!" Pinkie chirped, bouncing up and down on her feet.

"Guess she's just about here," Spike said, putting his hands in his pockets and nodding, a small half-smile on his face. Pinkie grabbed the teenager and easily lifted him up, twirling him around as he let out a surprised yelp. She brought him in for a tight squeeze, then set him down again as he tried to regain his balance. Chylene smiled tenderly at the two, then returned to staring at the incoming train.

The worn iron beast pulled into the station, releasing steam across the platform. A conductor opened the doors and a small group of people trickled out. Not even scant seconds later, Rarity.

She looked weak, dangling a small purse in her hand, while her other clutched a fashionable fur coat tightly against her collar. On seeing her friends, she gave a tender smile and approached them.

"Everyone..." she started, her shoulders held high as she gazed at her comrades. "I'm grateful you could all come to see my return," she said, looking at them all in turn. Her sights briefly settled on Jack. Rarity seemed to want to say something, but instead glanced at everyone once again. "Well, ladies—and Spike," she quickly added. "Have I missed quite a bit? I feel that I'm terribly behind on all the latest gossip!"

"Gossip about you, may—" Dash began, only to have her sleeve pulled by Twila, alongside a warning glare. "Uh..." she stopped, looking away from Rarity and scratching her hair.

Spike, surprisingly, came to the rescue.

"Me and Pinkie have been taking care of the store for you."

Rarity froze, the brief flush of raw panic on her face enough to make Jack smile slightly.

"I-Is that so?" she stammered. "How was—"

"Business was super-duper fast!" Pinkie replied. She reached into her back pocket, pulling out a coin-purse large enough that Jack wondered how in the hell it fit in the first place. "I made a list of all the thingies and stuff you need more of, too!"

Spike nodded. "And I have a _ton _of clientele messages for you when you're ready. Most are well-wishes, with a few low-priority orders."

"I see. Thank you, dear." Rarity smiled at the teenager, causing him to blush heavily.

"I'm glad you're ok," Chylene spoke up finally, staring at her feet. Rarity reached over and put a hand on the girl's shoulder.

"Of course," she reassured. "Thanks in part to you."

The timid woman hid farther in her bangs. "And Jack."

Rarity turned, looking strangely at the woman in question. "Yes... and Jack."

The violet-haired woman took a few steps towards Twila, noting the cane beside her. "How are you, dear?"

"Fine, fine," Twila dismissed with a wave of her good hand. "I'm simply fatigued. A few more days and I'll be more than adequate." She looked over Rarity. "Yourself?"

"I'm quite well too. No lasting damage, anyway. I'd like to request your help regarding my schoolwork—I have a feeling I'm dreadfully behind at the moment."

"Of course."

Rarity swallowed hard, then took a few tentative steps towards the farmer. When she got within a few feet, she lunged forward, tightly wrapping Jack in an embrace. Jack paused, then quickly put her hand to the back of Rarity's hair, stroking it tenderly.

"Hey, sug," Jack quietly said.

Rarity looked up at her, sucking in another breath. "Darling..." She turned, gazing once more at their friends. "I'm sorry to cut our reunion short, but I really wish to speak to Jack privately. Perhaps we could all agree on a luncheon date tomorrow?"

They gave a small nod.

"Expect a pretty good meal tomorrow, dude," Dash said. "We'll have ourselves some leftovers."

"Leftovers?" Rarity repeated.

"Might have had something planned for when you got back. We can wait, though." She shrugged.

The soul-folk paused. "I'm sorry. I was unaware that you had a festivity planned for me. I suppose I—"

"You go on with the hayseed. You two have a ton to talk about," Dash replied, giving a dismissive wave.

Rarity hesitated for a moment, then looked at Jack's face. "I suppose we do."

000

Jack and Rarity wordlessly walked hand-in-hand down the streets of Ponyville, lost in their own somber world together. Jack wanted to break the quiet, but just didn't know where to even begin. It was Rarity who spoke first.

"The boutique. We'll speak there."

Jack nodded, turning down the familiar alleyway that led to Rarity's shop. When they arrived at the front of the shop, Rarity reached into her purse, pulling out a set of keys and unlocking it. They walked inside, Rarity moved to the shop's glass counter; rested her hands against the glass top. Her shoulders visibly shook as Jack turned and shut the door behind them.

"J-Jack..." she tensely breathed out, not turning to face the farmer. The woman in question took a small, unsure step towards Rarity, yet still held back, limply letting her hands hang at her sides. "That night... I thought I would lose you." Rarity twisted from the counter in one motion, glaring at Jack as tears soundlessly spilled from her. Jack took a few steps towards Rarity, eventually wrapping the soul-folk in a tender embrace.

"Ya didn't." The farmer brought Rarity's head close and breathed in her violet hair. "I thought the same with ya." Her embrace tightened briefly. "Was scared I was gonna lose _you_," she quietly admitted, swallowing hard but refusing to cry. It was her turn to be Rarity's rock. She'd weather the woman's storm for her. _Ronnel_.

Rarity looked up at her face and ran a shaking hand over Jack's cheek. "Your..."

The blonde's lips turned into a grim line. "Jus' a scratch, Rare."

She considered Jack, gazing deep into the farmer's green eyes. "You're the most beautiful woman I've ever met," Rarity whispered, pain caked across her pale, flawless face. She stood on her tip-toes and kissed her. Hard. Jack leaned down into the kiss as Rarity took her work-worn hand and guided it to her waist, then the other to the back of her neck. The soul-folk broke away from their kiss to take a breath, still weeping slightly. Jack finally moved, running a thumb under Rarity's turquoise eyes, brushing away her tears.

"Don't cry, sug. I'm here," Jack reassured in a near-whisper. "I'm here."

Rarity let out a muted sob, grabbing Jack once more and giving the woman another deep, meaningful kiss. She pulled the farmer down by her neck, pressing her lips hard against Jack's once more, then moving her tongue into Jack's mouth. The farmer groaned lightly as Rarity guided her a few steps forward, until the tailor's shapely backside was flush against her glass countertop.

"Darling..." Rarity trailed off. She hopped onto the counter and met Jack's gaze. "It's unladylike, but I... I would request something of you."

"Anythin'," Jack quickly said.

"It would ease my mind tremendously if you were to stay with me tonight."

She weakly smiled at Rarity. "'Course I will." She ran a finger through Rarity's hair. "Ya took care a me after the worst day of my life. Y-ya mean too much fer me ta jus'..."

Rarity offered her own smile at Jack, affectionately squeezing the farmer's hands. "I'm grateful. It will ease my mind a bit, I believe. Being by your side."

Jack shook her head. "With all this shit goin' down—I ain't sure if ya should be alone period." She sighed, breaking away from Rarity's embrace to lean her back against the countertop. "Yer tough, Rare, no matter how ya look, but... maybe ya should," Jack gave a considering roll of her wrist, "hire a guard or somethin'."

Rarity frowned, narrowing her brow. "I may be a lady; however, I can take care of myself, Jack."

The farmer shook her head, rising. "Ya saw what Trixie did ta ya. What she... what she almost did ta me." Jack moved a few steps away and took to staring out the window. "A few lil' spells or somethin' like ya know ain't gonna be enough ta keep ya protected—Christ, even Twila had a close call, an' she knows all kinds-a stuff." She bit her lip. "I-I jus' want ya ta be _safe_, girl. "

Rarity was ready to offer fiery retort. On seeing how solemn Jack looked, she relented a bit, sighing and taking in a calming breath. "I know." Rarity walked over to Jack, wrapping her arm around Jack's and leaning into her broad shoulders. "I'll be fine. I know I will, Jack." She entwined their fingers together. "If something like that happens again... I know you'll rescue me."

"I ain't some kinda dashin' prince, Rare," Jack objected, running a hand over her mouth and briefly pausing when she felt the texture of the scar on her face.

"You're not," she agreed, smiling kindly. "You're better than that, darling. You're far more _real _than a character in one of my paperback novels. You're something... tangible that I can hold onto far better than a fairy-tale."

"Rare..." the farmer quietly whispered, her eyes stinging slightly from the sunset pouring through the windows.

At least, she'd pretend it was the sunset.

Jack serenely smiled, quickly wiping her eyes with her free hand and changing the subject. "H-how 'bout we have dinner here? I'm sure I can cook ya somethin' right up."

"I'll cook, dear. I already owe you immensely for agreeing to stay with me tonight."

She snapped her fingers. "That reminds me; can I steal a blanket or two from ya? Yer couch might get a bit cold toni—"

"Jack, no," Rarity replied, a flirtatious smile crossing her face as she ran a finger underneath Jack's chin. "I want you to stay _with me_ tonight."

It didn't take long for that to sink in for the blonde. "Are ya sure?" she asked, giving a slow, considering pause. "I don't want ya ta think that ya gotta jus' 'cause of—"

"I'm sure, Jack Apple. More sure about this than any man or woman I've had before," she stated, her face serious and true. Jack paused at the words, seeming to want to say something, anything, but let it drop.

It wasn't long before Rarity's small, flirty smile returned. "I suppose I should cook something light. After all, we'll need to save room for dessert, _darling_."

As the soul-folk sashayed away, swinging her beautiful body with every step, Jack felt a strange sense of anticipation and dread bubble through her at the same time when she thought of what would happen tonight. On one hand, she cared deeply for Rarity—cared for her more than any person she had ever known. Plus it'd make for a good distraction—keep Rarity's mind away from darker thoughts, even if it was only for a little while.

On the other...

On the other, there was a part of her afraid that what happened at the picnic would happen here. If it happened again, Jack wasn't sure what she'd do. If she couldn't... live up to Rarity's standards.

Jack's brow furrowed.

Rarity's standards. That was another elephant in the room. It was a small thing that just came from Rarity's mouth a moment ago; she had experience prior to Jack. The farmer wasn't a fool by any means—it wasn't that shocking to think Rarity had partners before. The soul-folk was beautiful and of marriage age; had been for some time now. It was only natural and expected she had... tested the waters some. There was no real shame to it. None at all.

If anything, Jack was the odd duck here.

"What have I got myself inta now?" the woman said to herself, resting her head in her hands and leaning with a sigh onto the counter.


	18. To know her (Mature)

**AN: Just letting you know ahead of time this is an optional NSFW chapter containing consensual sex between two people in a committed relationship. If that doesn't interest you, just wait, I'll get the next actual chapter out ASAP.**

000

Rarity poured a glass of Chardonnay for Jack and herself, then sat down at the end of the small dining room table. She sipped briefly at her drink before starting at the shrimp Alfredo, methodically eating the pasta and only pausing to pat her lips daintily with a napkin. She looked towards her dining companion, who was picking at her food with disinterest, resting her head in her hand and staring towards the soul-folk.

"Something the matter, darling?"

Jack jumped a bit at Rarity's voice and quickly shook her head. "N-no ma'am. I'm good."

The tailor leaned forward, taking another drink. "Come now, Jack. We both know you're a pathetic liar." She weakly smiled. "Besides, I have the feeling neither of us are 'good,' after the troubles a few days ago."

"Got that right," Jack quietly agreed. She took a deep drink from her wine, frowning slightly at its peculiar taste. "A bit ago, ya mentioned... _bein'_ with other people."

Rarity put her utensils down onto the table. "I suppose I did, yes."

"Jus' how many we talkin' here?" Jack bluntly asked.

"Why do you wish to know? Do you believe me to be some kind of harlot?"

"_What?_ No, Rare. Jus' curious," the earth-folk replied, realizing quickly she was in hostile territory.

"It's not a ladies place to kiss and tell," she replied, crossing her arms.

"Didn't mean no harm in it, sug. Jus' wanted ta know 'fore we..."

"Does it make any difference regarding how I feel about you?" Rarity asked. "No."

Jack scowled, leaning back in her chair. "Fine, fine. Didn't realize it was that big a deal ta ya."

"Well, how many have _you_ been with, Jack?" Rarity sharply asked. Jack paused, stunned by the question.

"Uh..." Jack trailed off, in obvious duress. "I mean, that's a complicated question with a, a ton of answers ta it."

Rarity flatly looked at her for several long, agonizing seconds before Jack nervously laughed.

"I'mma jus' gonna drop this lil' topic."

"The most intelligent thing you've said all night," the soul-folk replied, casually taking another drink of wine.

Jack glanced down at her meal. "Sorry, sug."

She gave a small, considering nod. "If I couldn't deal with you putting your foot in your mouth consistently, we wouldn't be in a relationship."

The farmer smiled slightly, pushing away from the table and rising to her feet. "Alright with ya if I take a shower?"

"Certainly, darling. My home is yours to use!" Rarity proclaimed. "I'll clean up down here—I presume you're done with your meal?"

"Yeah. Jus' ain't got much of an appetite." She sickly smiled, glancing to her side and biting her lower lip—Rarity could read the obvious tell—Jack had never been good at lying.

The tailor let the topic drop and rested her hands on the table. "Should be some towels inside already, dear."

Jack left, climbing up the stairs and heading into the bathroom, so lost in her own world she didn't even notice the slightly devious smile Rarity held.

While the soul-folk normally abhorred the thought of engaging in a such a crass and baseless act like practical jokes, she couldn't resist this opportunity. It was simply too _perfect_ not to use.

000

Jack stepped out of the shower, reaching for a towel on a nearby rack. After rubbing her body dry, she wrapped it around her torso, frowning slightly on how little it covered her. Downside of being tall reared its ugly head yet again to her. She walked to the fogged up bathroom mirror and ran her palm across it, staring hard at the woman looking back at her.

It wasn't often she took stock in her appearance. A staunch opposition to vanity was one reason, the other was a simple... vague indifference to herself. She was who she was—makeup and the like wouldn't change that.

Jack shifted her body, spreading her legs slightly so she could comfortably lean her arms on the counter. She stood like this for several minutes, looking at her reflection as water ran down her long blond hair, leaving trails that snaked delicately over the earthen tone of her skin and onto the cream towel. She gave a thought about looking nice for Rarity, but realized she wouldn't even have an _idea_ on where to start beyond basic grooming. All the lotions, make-up kits, creams and tonics on the counter just left her paralyzed with indecision.

The farmer exhaled. Feeling like she was on pins and needles, she moved her fingers across the counter and swallowed. She ran a thumb gingerly over her still-tender nose and wished she had finished the drink Rarity had provided for their dinner. God, something to calm down her nerves before getting dressed and speaking to her would—

Taking a glance around the room, Jack suddenly paused. Where the hell were her clothes? She thought she had laid them near the counter, but...

Something peaked out from underneath the bathroom door. A white sock. Jack crept towards the door and opened it just enough to peak her head out. Her clothing lay strewn out in a trail along the floor of the upstairs lounge. Grumbling, Jack took a quick glance left and right. On being in the clear, she opened the door fully and stepped into the room. She gathered her clothes one at a time, walking at a half crouch with the towel held possessively in one hand to keep herself from losing it. She grabbed the white sock, then its pair. A checkered bandana Jack normally kept in her breast pocket, her off-white cotton boxers. Another step through the room brought her to her bra. A few more, her trusty tank-top and plaid over-shirt. She came to a door and noticed the last piece to complete the ensemble she carried in her arm, the frayed and worn leg of a pair of her jeans peaked out under the doorway. Jack tried to get the pants through the crack but didn't have any luck, so she grabbed the handle and pulled. She paused, her jaw dropping on what she saw when she opened the door.

Rarity lay on her side on a bed, nude, save for the familiar, worn stetson atop her head, the string loosely hanging down her face as she laid her head on a delicate hand.

"I was wondering when you'd get out of the shower," she said, running a hand down her side. "I've been waiting."

Jack gazed at Rarity in all her divine glory. Her violet hair, cascading down her narrow, soft shoulders. Her full, sensual lips. Her flawless skin, her pert breasts that were not too big, yet not too small. Perfect for her hourglass figure. Her clean-shaven mound. Her delicate flower, already slightly engorged and longing. Her eyes.

God, her eyes.

"Come here..." Rarity quietly invited, beckoning Jack towards the bed. The blonde took a few nervous steps forward before her partner playfully tsked.

"I believe you're a bit too... dressed up, if you will." Rarity flicked her eyes down to the towel at Jack's waist.

"Oh." She threw the pile of clothes in her hands aside and paused. She took a deep, nervous breath to steady her nerves, then opened her towel, letting it drop behind her.

If Rarity's body defined natural feminine beauty, Jack was the antithesis. Too tall, broad shouldered, strong, obvious muscles that were a contradiction to her full, prominent breasts, each standing out from her rugged figure like a plump, voluptuous melon topped with a deep brown nipple. She paused awkwardly, putting her calloused hands over the small, oval patch of pubic hair she carried above her mound. Rarity couldn't help but smile—the way it was groomed almost gave the impression of a cowlick.

"You're beautiful," Rarity said, not even a trace of sarcasm in her tone.

"Ain't nothin' compared ta ya, sug."

The soul-folk rose to a sitting position and patted a spot next to her. Jack complied, already sweating slightly. Rarity put her hand on top of Jack's and turned on the bed to face her. The farmer stared towards the wall, taking a moment to think as she sat on the edge of the bed.

Rarity ran a soothing hand up and down Jack's bare back, bringing the farmer back to the present.

"Is there anything I can do to make you more comfortable?" the beauty asked. "I could make some... adjustments to myself, if need be."

"Adjustments?" Jack repeated. "Like puttin' yer hair down? Or some socks or somethin'?"

She gave a small titter of laughter. "A bit more expansive than that, darling. Quite a bit, actually. I assume you've never been with a soul-folk before?"

"I ain't _been _with any—" she realized what she said and panicked, shutting her mouth instantly. Heat flooded her face at the slip. Rarity paused.

"You mean I'm your...?"

Jack didn't answer, instead wringing her hands.

Rarity continued, just as flustered as Jack was. "I-I simply presumed, with as aggressive as you were in our previous attempt..."

"Yeah, well, that 'attempt' ended with me seein'..." Jack licked her lips and grimaced. "Took the wind outta my sails, I guess."

Rarity scooted a few inches closer, putting an arm around the blonde's waist. "Then I suppose I should put my lips together and blow."

The farmer quirked a brow. "Rare, I ain't sure I get—" she was interrupted by a hard kiss; Rarity took Jack's legs and threw them onto the bed, then shoved Jack flat onto her back.

She tilted Jack's hat back and smiled. Not smugly or sensually, but with an almost maternal kindness. "While I traditionally let my partner set the pace of my liaisons... you..." She straddled Jack, lightly grinding their groins together and making Jack clench her teeth in surprise, before the soul-folk rose slightly to stare at the woman's green eyes. She reached forward, gently running her thumb over Jack's scar. "You're a special case."

Jack meekly smiled as Rarity brought her other hand up and clasped as much as she could of the farmer's oversized breast, squeezing Jack's nipple between her delicate fingers.

"You're always hurting for me, Jack," Rarity somberly mused, once more paying attention to the farmer's scarred cheek. "Just once, I'd like to hurt for you instead."

The blonde took Rarity's hand and brought it to her own dark brown cheek. "I don't want ya ta. Ya leave takin' care of us ta me."

"Jack..." She gazed at her honest eyes once more. Rarity slowly leaned in, kissing her, then after a moment, stuck her tongue out, wordlessly asking for passage. Jack responded, opening her mouth for the woman. Their tongues swirled and danced together as Rarity began to massage the blonde's breast and trailed her other hand down to the farmer's stomach. She rested her hand briefly on Jack's abs and broke away from the kiss, tweaking Jack's nipple as they parted. The action made Jack gasp slightly, tensing her arms.

"You're sensitive there." Rarity shook her head with a smile. "Should have figured you'd have such an obvious spot—you never were one for subtlety." She continued playing with the farmer's breast, squeezing it, stroking it, kneading the supple flesh in her hands. Jack let out a surprisingly girlish moan; she squeezed her eyes closed and bit her knuckle to stop from making any farther noise.

"I'm only like this 'c-cause it's you," Jack panted out, barely managing to open one of her eyes to gaze at Rarity.

The tailor paused once more, looking briefly surprised at Jack's words. She leaned down to kiss the earth-folk's lips once more, as she grabbed the blonde's breast and pushed the yielding mound up Jack's body. She then let go, noting how its firm yet giving features spilled downward again, all but swallowing Rarity's palm in its mass.

"I know your measurements, but I suppose I never really _thought_ about them, darling. You might have the largest bust I've ever worked for." She lowered her head down to the blonde's other breast. "They're quite nice." She stuck out her tongue and ran it in a clockwise motion over Jack's dark areola. She smirked slightly, then planted her mouth on top of Jack's nipple and took to suckling it. The farmer gasped even _harder_ at the stimulation, clinging tightly to the bedsheets with her fingers and toes.

Rarity stopped briefly, not taking her eyes off Jack's chest. "You can touch me if you like, dear. I won't bite."

Jack muttered a quiet apology, then took a shaking hand to Rarity's own breast, for a few moments reverently holding it in her palm—treating it with the same tenderness a kind giant might give to a bird—before clasping her hand tightly around it and lightly squeezing it. Rarity moaned directly onto Jack's nipple, the stimulation making the farmer near-drunk with pleasure. A tingling feeling that was almost overwhelming started at Jack's lower stomach and spread down to her groin in sharp, pleasurable jolts of lightning. Rarity instantly stopped her suckling on seeing Jack's face.

"Darling... were you really about to climax from simple breast play?"

"Rare... that felt _great_," Jack panted out, her words a jumbled mess.

Rarity laughed quietly to herself. "You haven't seen great yet." She adjusted herself, moving off of Jack's pelvis and on top of her thigh. She briefly ran over Jack's small patch of pubic hair, moving through it and curling it with her finger, then returned her gaze to Jack's face, looking briefly concerned. "I apologize for being so uncouth, but have you ever... penetrated?"

"Myself?" Jack asked, the heat in her face causing her head to throb. "W-well..."

"I only ask because you might feel a twinge of pain, otherwise."

She swallowed, nodding. "I have before, yeah."

Rarity extended her index and middle finger and traced Jack's maidenhood. "Then I suppose I'll get started." She plunged her fingers into the farmer; they slid in easily, mingling with Jack's juices. The earth-folk gasped, the sensation so odd she moved to sit up; Rarity put a reassuring hand on her shoulder and continued her fingerwork, thrusting in and out of Jack with the elegance of a maestro conducting an orchestra. After a few thrusts into her, Jack picked up on the rhythm and began bucking her hips forward, wordlessly begging Rarity to dive further. Rarity moved to Jack's side and complied, burying her fingers all the way to the knuckles inside of the blonde, then wiggling them slightly as she once more cupped one of Jack's breasts.

She was all but delirious with pleasure as Rarity's skilled fingers worked their magic inside of her. The blonde groped Rarity's breast as the pressure from earlier rose inside like a flurry of butterflies in a strong wind, sending her rapidly towards the edge.

"I-I think I'm close," the farmer cried out.

"Let it come," Rarity said, leaning down and peppering Jack's neck with sensual kisses.

Jack yelped as the pressure inside released; she grabbed Rarity's hand and pushed it hard against her passageway as her essence spilled from her loins, granting sweet relief.

Rarity kindly smiled, then pulled her hand free and licked her fingers, tasting Jack's climax.

As Jack caught her breath, she looked over at Rarity. "Guess we gotta do you now," she said. Rarity waved the idea away with a hand.

"No. Tonight was about you, darling. I'm fine."

Jack twisted on the sheets, rising and putting her hands on Rarity's thighs. "I-I wanna make ya feel jus' as good as ya made me," Jack stammered out, her eyes nearly pleading with the experienced woman.

"I... oh, very well," she sighed, but offered another kind smile despite herself. The soul-folk slowly fell onto her back, her legs spread and waiting. Jack crawled forward and stuck out her index and middle finger like Rarity did moments ago, then brought her head near to the others sex and paused.

"Something the matter?"

"Jus' kinda odd seein' one this close," Jack mused. "T-tried getting' a mirror ta see my own once, but it... nevermind." She gently put her fingers inside of Rarity. "Ya want it like this?"

Rarity winced. "T-that's perfect, darling. Like that."

Jack continued to thrust into Rarity with her fingers, blushing furiously at the action, the squelching noise Rarity's wet arousal made with every motion of Jack's calloused fingers, and the violet-haired beauty's own elated moans. Rarity lovingly stroked the top of Jack's head, as if she was reassuring a pet.

"Just fine... just fine..." Rarity repeated, giving a small, elated hum as Jack adjusted her fingers a bit inside Rarity's walls.

A few more thrusts, and the soul-folk's breathing increased. "Next time, we'll try a few other approaches to lovemaking that I think you'll—" Jack ran a thumb over the girl's clitoris; Rarity all but exploded, shivering violently in a sea of pleasure.

"Wa ha ha!" she loudly laughed.

Jack smiled brightly at the unusual noise her partner produced. "Ya like that, huh?"

Rarity blushed. "Well, I—" Jack pressed down on her button once more. "Nnng!" she grunted out. "Yes, I love it!" she called out. Jack winced slightly at the volume.

The farmer ran once again on instinct; she continued to thrust into Rarity, then came down onto the soul-folk's clitoris with her mouth, lapping at the small protrusion with her tongue.

Rarity gasped and squirmed, squeezing her hands tightly in Jack's hair.

"_Jack!_" she cried out, pleasure erupting like a volcano as she climaxed hard onto Jack's fingers, her juices spilling out onto the sheets, soaking them. It took a few moments to regain their bearings; when they did, they lay down on the bed, their hands still entwined as they rested on either side.

Jack shuffled uncomfortably where she lay, the wet spots from their lovemaking at her back.

_Ain't somethin' ya read 'bout in those romance books, _she thought wryly, finally giving up and turning onto her side, facing Rarity and almost leaning on the other girl. She smiled when she looked at the soul-folk, she could still in a way feel the ghost-touch of Rarity inside her passages.

"Hey, Rare?"

"Mmm?" she questioned, already close to nodding off after being sated.

Jack scratched at her nose. "I'm, uh, glad ya were my first. It was somethin' pretty special ta me."

Rarity woke up a bit on hearing that. She wrapped an arm around the farmer and brushed blondes bangs behind her ear. "It was an honor to take it from you, darling." After a long pause she looked deeply into Jack's eyes. "Five."

"Five?" the earth-folk repeated.

"How many I've been with. Three men, a woman, now you." Rarity gazed at Jack's nude body. "You told me about your partners, or lack thereof. It was only fair."

"Fifth time's the charm."

Rarity gave a small laugh of her own, hugging the woman and running her hand over Jack's muscled back. "Fifth time's the charm."

000

Jack woke up a few hours later feeling like something was amiss. She moved her arms a bit, feeling for the warm body of her partner. When Jack finally realized Rarity wasn't on the bed, she glanced across the room, noticing Rarity staring out the window at the starlit night. Jack quietly rose and made her way to the woman. She wordlessly wrapped her arms around Rarity's shoulders, the woman held onto Jack's strong arms.

"Somethin' wrong, sug?" the blonde asked.

"I suppose I was simply thinking." Rarity glanced pensively at the floor. "Some of the words I spoke earlier reeked of bravado. I'm..." She sighed. "I'm honestly frightened, Jack. I'm frightened that someone may wish to do me harm again. Yet I cannot stand the idea of hiring muscle simply to protect myself—I find it abhorrent. I don't _want_ that, Jack."

She nodded, understanding at least a little where Rarity was coming from. "I'll keep ya safe."

"Jack..."

"Like ya said earlier: If somethin' like this ever happens again, I'll rescue ya. Anyone," she paused, her lips a thin, grim line of conviction. "_Anyone_ that tries ta hurt ya like that is gonna wind up dead."

Together, their bodies held so tight they were almost as one, they watched the stars give way to the first rays of a brighter tomorrow.


End file.
